


What the Storm Brings

by Illusionary_Oblivion_25



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Wild ARMs Altercode: F
Genre: 'azuret' means blue-haired, 'verdanet' means green-haired, ...maybe Pyreverse..., Gen, Headcanons for both sources, I use 'Zet' not 'Zed', Minor Original Character(s), More tags to add later..., Pyreverse, Sorry Not Sorry, Zet is definitely crazy and Crane is creepy and both are fun, fear toxin, inconsistent chapter length
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-04-21 03:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 35,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14276190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illusionary_Oblivion_25/pseuds/Illusionary_Oblivion_25
Summary: When a freak storm sweeps over Arkham Island, it brings with it something that no Gothamite could have predicted.[Knowledge of both primary sources is preferable but not really necessary... Batman knowledge is more important with this one, Wild ARMs stuff will be mostly explained or otherwise alluded to. Rewrite of the previous version]





	1. Supercell

The sky over Gotham City had turned a deep slate grey, thick and heavy with storm clouds. Wind and rain buffeted the entire city, and lightning flashed from cloud to cloud, occasionally arcing down to spear the ground or pierce the water. Travel across Gotham’s many bridges between the sections of the city had been restricted to necessities only, while the small islands in the bay were left isolated while waiting for the storm to pass.

Arkham Island was no different. All but one of the boats typically moored at the pier had been sent to the mainland, while the remaining vessel was secured in the boathouse, locked away until either the weather cleared up or there was an inescapable need for it –whichever came first. The staff and residents of the asylum stayed indoors whenever possible, with only those unlucky few who were stuck with no other option but to brave the storm venturing outside.

The luck of one Eddie Burlow had failed dismally. He tugged his raincoat closer around his body with a loud groan, earning a sympathetic glance from the man beside him –a fellow Arkham guard by the name of Louie Green. Both had drawn the short straw and been given guard duty outside and both had decided to stay as close to the boathouse as possible, using the small building as a form of shelter. “Where’d this storm even come from?” he groused.

With a small smile, Louie shook his head. “No clue, but it’d be nice if it left as suddenly as it came, wouldn’t it?” Letting out a huff, he continued. “Can’t even call anyone, so why are they insisting that we stand guard? Who’d be stupid enough to want to be out in this weather?”

“Good question.” Eddie was interrupted from saying anything further by the sound of a loud splash coming from between the boathouse and the steep rocky shore. “What was that?” The pair carefully made their way around the boathouse, squinting through the rain for a few seconds before Louie let out a wordless shout and pointed at a colourful mass in the water, one that looked too much like a body to be ignored.

After a moment of hesitation, Eddie grimaced and dove in. He managed to get a hold on the person’s upper torso and pulled them back onto solid ground with Louie’s help. They lay the stranger out on the boathouse floor, looking them over.

“He’s just a kid…” the thoroughly-soaked guard breathed out between his shivers and chattering teeth, his brown eyes transfixed on the stranger’s face and his mouth hanging slightly open, snapping back to himself when Louie jabbed him in the ribs.

“There’s more to worry about than that, Burlow. Take a good look.”

Eddie grunted. The boy he’d fished out of the water looked entirely out of place… and entirely foreign to Gotham as a whole. He had to cover his mouth when he noticed a massive hole in the stranger’s side, sluggishly leaking something that looked a lot like mercury. “How’d he even…?”

“…hate lightning… always fucking hurts…” murmured a third voice, drawing the attention of both asylum guards back to the boy’s face, and his half-open eyes. “…no, how about you do that, instead…”

Louie let out a sharp hiss, scrambling to his feet. He was halfway to the door before anything else could be said. “What the—?! He’s awake, too? I’m going to get—”

“Yeah, go. I’ll take him up to Medical.” Eddie interrupted with a nod.

 


	2. Arkham's Gaze

Quincy Sharp, the warden of Arkham Asylum, preferred things to run like clockwork. It was neat and wonderfully systematic, and allowed him to focus on much more pleasant or even more important matters. Running the asylum was no different. New faces arrived on an unduly-regular basis –it really was rather unfortunate how much of Gotham’s population needed help– and it was up to him and his staff to do what needed doing.

No matter what that was.

A sudden loud knocking at his office door made the stout man jump, bespectacled blue gaze snapping to the entryway of his own little corner of the island. “Come in.”

One of Arkham’s guards –Louie Green, if his memory served– rushed into view, tracking water and mud across his floor; Quincy grimaced, but quickly masked it with an expectant look. The poor man wrung his hands for a moment or two before regaining some of his composure and standing at attention. “Sir, we found a kid by the pier. Burlow’s taking him to get looked at in the Medical Centre, now.”

Forcing himself not to blink stupidly, Quincy stared at the other man, instead. In the silence that stretched between them for a couple of minutes, the guard’s heavy breathing was raucously clear. “Could you repeat that?” he asked at long last, after taking a deep breath.

The sodden man jolted slightly at the question, but nodded quickly. “Yes, sorry sir. Eddie and I were on duty by the boathouse, and we heard a splash. It turned out to be a kid with…” Louie paused to gulp loudly and force a shuddering breath out of his mouth, “…with about a third of his torso missing. Ed fished him out, and is taking him to get looked at by the doctors –the kid’s still alive, somehow. We would have used the radio, but with the storm’s interference…” he finished with an awkward shrug and a deep grimace.

Quincy allowed the information to roll around in his mind for a few moments, nodding slowly to show that he’d heard. There was one prudent question that hadn’t been addressed, however, something that he fixed with a small frown on his face. “Is he an inmate?”

“No, sir. Never seen him before. Seemed like he might have been wearing a different uniform than ours, though…”

The balding warden nodded again, then bent to open one of the drawers in his desk. “Very good. We function on the philosophy of ‘innocent until proven guilty’ in this country, yes?” Quincy pulled out an empty manila folder and handed it to the guard. “I want to be kept updated on his state, but there’s little reason to deny someone medical care, simply for landing on the wrong shoreline. Also, I want someone to do whatever’s needed to learn about who he is.”

“Yes, sir…” Louie nodded, holding the folder carefully, doing his best to keep it as dry as possible.

“You’re dismissed. Time to get back to work, Officer Green.”

 


	3. Iatrophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing a minor OC with this chapter, a nurse named Jodie.

Jodie Smith looked from the painfully-blank medical file in her hands to the unconscious boy lying on the bed in front of her. He’d come in, somehow still awake at the time, just a few minutes ago… and she was still trying to wrap her head around his presence. Brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the nurse took a deep breath and set the clipboard down on the table beside him. In the corner, the guard who had carried him into the Medical Centre shuffled from one foot to the other.

She gave him a well-practiced smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll do our best.”

Eddie started, then let out a huff of wry laughter. “Yeah, yeah, no problem.” He paused, glancing at the door. “I… should probably get back to my post. Louie’d be chomping at the bit, waiting for me.”

With a nod, Jodie bade him goodbye, then returned her attention to Arkham’s newest patient. “Well then, what is your story?” she asked, not really expecting any form of response while she gathered together some of the equipment that she thought he’d be needing. “I hope you’re not one of the dangerous ones. That could be a little awkward, after all…”

“—’re you…?”

The quiet query made her pause, blinking. Her face paled when she saw his eyes open once again, bright gold pinning her to the spot. “I… My name’s Jodie,” she answered after a few seconds, pulling a cheery smile onto her face and doing her best to ignore the sweat that she could feel starting to seep from her pores. “I work here, and I’m going to help make you all better, okay?”

His lips slid open, baring teeth that probably weren’t as large as they looked, and he shifted as if to push himself off of the bed. Jodie rushed forward to press his body back down to the mattress, earning herself a loud clack of teeth hitting teeth… and a deep growl that spluttered to a stop only when more silvery liquid spilled from the massive wound. “Back off!”

“Calm down, I’m just trying to help—” Another thunderous growl had her recoiling a few steps, freeing him to try to move again. “Please stop that. You’re going to bleed yourself dry, at this rate!”

“I do hope this isn’t a bad time…” interjected another voice.

Jodie spun on the spot, taking in the sight of the asylum’s warden in the doorway, leaning on his crystal-topped cane with the air of someone who had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Oh, no, sir, this is… as good a time as any.”

“Excellent.” Warden Sharp nodded, striding purposefully into the room, deliberately avoiding sparing any attention for the boy’s wound. To Jodie’s surprise, her patient stilled, meeting the other man’s gaze evenly. “What is your name, young man?”

Those unnerving golden eyes narrowed, and the boy bit out a single intelligible syllable, before launching into a tirade of sounds that neither Jodie nor the warden could make heads nor tails of. “Zet.”

 


	4. Before the Storm: A Dream of the Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for a flashback...

_It was cold in the control room of the massive machine, enough to force a shiver through his body despite the fire still pumping through his veins. His hands clenched and unclenched against his will as he tried his utmost not to simply lash out at whatever happened to be moving nearby. Coming to the transporter had been a last resort that he’d wanted to avoid… there were never any guarantees when he was the one using it…_

_But, for once, he’d come for a reason more pressing than simply to teach himself how to use the thing, painstakingly slowly and typically by learning what not to do first. This time, it was to finish things… the only way he knew how, the only way he had any confidence in actually succeeding. Loath as he was to admit it, the woman he wanted to beat was far too strong for him to be sure that he could simply get rid of her the old-fashioned way._

_That left him with Plan B._

_Striding over to the actual control panel, he felt his chest begin to tighten uncomfortably. Was it nervousness, or even fear? He bit his lower lip and shook his head rapidly, as if to physically fling the hesitation from his mind. Everything had gone too far for him to stop –to give up– now, just as he was about to win at last._

_…He was going to win, wasn’t he? If he did this –if he sent her careening through space with no end in sight– he’d win… right?_

_Coldness started to grow in the pit of his stomach. Alhazred was going to kill him, if he found out… He was going to die, and it would all be thanks to the obsessions of a madman who couldn’t tell when to leave well enough alone… who couldn’t get it through his thick metal skull that she hated the scientist almost more than Alhazred hated humans. It was obvious to all of the rest of them, after all._

_His fingers rested lightly on the keys, a small frown falling over his face when he noticed the scuff marks left there by the thin extremities of the creatures who called the transporter their home. The Doppelgangers had always confused him… why did they bother trying to copy other beings when they were so obviously colour-blind? Not to mention, why did they have to decide that dancing on the controls was a good idea? He closed his eyes and shook his head once again, forcing himself to concentrate; after taking a deep breath or three, he started to enter the sequence._

_There was no true rhyme or reason behind the keys he used, no real pattern or purpose. He’d learned a long time ago that, the more he didn’t pay attention to what was put into the machine, the crazier the resulting transfer was. His very first time trying to wrangle the controls had left such a lasting impression that he’d been effectively banned from ever using it again, not that he tended to pay much heed to such things. Apparently, placing two things next to each other that should never meet was too much, even for the others’ bizarre sensibilities. If he felt that a particular key would fit to be used next, then he pressed it without thinking it over… besides, the stranger the sequence became, the less likely it was that someone else could reverse its effects._

_The redhead who had been a source of almost-unending irritation for him, and definitely –absolutely– no jealousy at all… she would disappear, never to be seen nor heard from again._

_If only he had better luck…_

_“What do you think you’re doing?” an icy voice asked, making him jump and press several more keys all at once. Deftly-controlled electricity speared through his left side to strike the controls, even as he spun to face the new arrival. The other’s large golden mask and glowering scarlet eyes filled his vision, and he felt the floor seem to fall out from under him. “Are you trying to do something stupid again? Or should I say ‘like usual’, instead?”_

 


	5. Curiosity's Cat

In spite of a lack of overt discussion on the matter between Arkham’s staff, word of the new arrival spread like wildfire among the inmates, each eager to learn just what sorts of tricks or outright strangeness he possessed. A low-key betting pool had even begun, run by an inmate named Warren White, and the bets had simply gotten more and more ludicrous the longer it went on; those who passed through the Medical Centre returned with vague and sometimes conflicting tales of their glimpses of the newcomer.

Lean or just skinny, young but unclear how young, eyes that may or may not possess an animal-like gleam… although most could agree that the newcomer was prone to –quite literally– snapping at the staff when he was awake…

What had brought him to the asylum in the first place, however, remained a mystery.

As such, when Doctor Jonathan Crane found himself sitting on the bed beside the talk of the asylum with his right arm and ribs wrapped up in the process of healing from an unfortunate encounter with a guard’s unrestrained temper, he resolved to learn what those before him did not.

The auburn-haired doctor shifted, getting into a more comfortable position for what could easily turn into hours of observation before anything conventionally-interesting happened; he wasn’t concerned, however –the Medical Centre tended to be boring at the best of times, so any distraction was a welcome change. Jonathan could hear soft snores coming from the other bed, if the quiet and near-constant rumble could be called such a thing, and he was struck by how similar it sounded to the purring of a large housecat. The comparison drew a quiet scoff from the disgraced psychiatrist –he was probably joining the dots in ways that reflected nothing of the newcomer’s true nature. To some degree, however, Jonathan was somewhat glad that he was asleep for now, as it not only kept undue noise to a minimum, but it also allowed him to see the other in one of his most vulnerable states.

In almost any other city, what little Jonathan already knew about him would stand out like a sore thumb, but Gotham saw most of the oddities of the eastern seaboard at some point… so much so, that it was practically an everyday thing, by this point. Because of that, to stand out, one had to be particularly outrageous in some way, whether that meant looking unique or having some strange capability or ‘gimmick’.

It was only natural to be curious about what new things might be brought to the table, let alone what sort of hand that person held.

While Jonathan had quickly dismissed the comparison his mind drew between his temporary roommate and felines, there was nothing that could deny the coil that he had made of his body, his limbs tangled up in the thin blanket. His head was tucked out of sight, too. Soft murmuring could be heard from under the loosely-woven fabric, interspersed between those odd rumbles. Jonathan let out a low hum, raising an eyebrow and cocking his head to one side; the murmurs sounded vaguely like smothered words, but what little he could catch was nothing like any language he’d ever heard. Wryly, the redhead decided that communication would be either very intriguing, or endlessly infuriating, once the newcomer actually woke up.

The instruments that the Arkham medical staff had gathered around the other bed revealed nothing of true importance; the readouts were fairly regular for someone of that approximate size, although they did show that his temperature was a little low. Although, there was one glaring omission… most of the tales circulating the asylum had mentioned some kind of severe injury, bad enough that blood transfusions would have been a possibility. Yet, there was no sign of anything to validate such a prominent feature in the stories. It was possible that he simply had a blood type that was particularly tricky to match with, given Arkham’s current storage… but even that explanation was sketchy, at best.

Jonathan felt his brow furrow, and he pushed that line of thought to the back of his mind. He wasn’t really a medical doctor, after all, so it was possible that he was simply missing something crucial to making sense of it.

A young nurse came into the room, picking up Jonathan’s file first and offering him a quick smile which he didn’t return. The nametag sewn into the fabric of her light green uniform identified her as ‘Jodie’ while also marking her as a relatively new addition to the asylum’s roster, and he quickly took in her curly ponytail, rather petite figure –at least compared to him– and childlike face. It wasn’t very hard to feign disinterest, watching her with his eyes half-open. Once she was finished with reading his file, Jodie came to the side of the bed and held out a paper cup. “Time to take your pills, Mister Crane,” she chirped.

He resisted the urge to scowl at her, to snarl that he had worked hard to earn his doctorate, thank you very much, and should be respected as such… especially by someone who clearly didn’t know how to treat their own patients if she so blindly said something that was undoubtedly noted to trigger a negative reaction. His fingers tightened around the cup just enough to start to crumple the fragile thing, before he threw the pills into his mouth and quickly tucked them under his tongue. Opening his mouth wide to show that they’d disappeared, Jonathan thrust the cup back into her hands.

Gullibly-satisfied, the nurse put the cup to one side, and started to poke tentatively at his right shoulder, occasionally shifting her attention to his ribs instead. Jonathan hissed when the pain spiked under her probing fingers. “Does this hurt?”

A dark glare was all he needed to convey the sheer stupidity of that question; he wasn’t about to spoil his efforts to not dull his own mind with whatever cocktail they were feeding him today, just to let loose his ever-sharp tongue on that display of incompetence. Thankfully, she appeared suitably chastised and kept any further inane questioning to herself, continuing her check of his physical condition without another word. The moment Jodie turned her back to check on the other occupant, he spat the pills into his left hand and hid them under his blanket.

She inspected the various machines first, cross-checking with the newcomer’s file every few moments. The blankets shifted and the murmuring stopped, although the rumbles continued with just a slight hiccup; it seemed to Jonathan like someone might just be awake, already. The nurse set the file down on the table and took a step back before opening her mouth. “It’s time to wake up, young man.” There was no obvious response, but she didn’t touch him at all, something that Jonathan filed away for later contemplation. “Come now,” Jodie urged in the same sweet tone that all of the asylum’s nurses were trained to use –apparently it was supposed to ‘soothe the savage beast’. “You don’t want to sleep the day away, do you?”

That seemed to break through the newcomer’s resistance, or through his haze-filled brain, whichever was more accurate. The rumbling sound was silenced in favour of a low groan, and the coil of thin fabric and limbs loosened enough to allow a spiky shock of moss-green hair and half-lidded golden eyes to appear from the makeshift cocoon. Those eyes –and Jonathan was surprised to note that they really did seem to gleam in the fluorescent light the room was bathed in– flicked from the nurse, to the door, and then to Jonathan, before returning to rest on the nurse and narrowing further. He made no other move, seemingly waiting to react instead.

Unperturbed by the glare, she simply smiled. “How are you feeling, today?” Despite the deliberately-pleasant tone –or maybe because of it, as Jonathan had certainly found it personally insulting on more than one occasion– Arkham’s newcomer let out a harsh sound that could only be called a growl, lifting his head to bare sharp teeth at her. “Now, really. Is that really necessary?”

Well, if nothing else, he was not normal from a physicality standpoint. That was more than any other inmate seemed to know about him.

Next, it was a tongue, poking out childishly and paired with another growl. “…Th’fuck d’you want?” Jodie’s smile widened, and Jonathan even allowed himself a tiny twitch of the lip; it was good to know that communication wouldn’t be utterly impossible, should the need arise. A few moments later, the young verdanet huffed and shifted under the blanket, drawing his lean frame into a sitting position. His movements were slow and cautious, clearly favouring one side over the other. “You people are fucking vultures… It’s no surprise that the damn thing still hurts, I bet, given how much you lot love to look at it.”

Nodding with the air of someone brushing a statement to one side, she moved closer, her hands pausing to hover over the newcomer’s blanket. “May I?” she asked, earning herself another snarl. The youngster shifted, pulling away from her as far as he could in the limited space, making the blanket fall from his shoulders to reveal that one arm had wrapped tightly around his ribs. “I promise that I won’t hurt you more than absolutely necessary.”

Jonathan blinked slowly, carefully cataloguing the verdanet’s actions. That was quite an unusual approach… Typically, the medical staff of the asylum promised no pain at all –no doubt hoping to avoid any potential bad reactions from an irate inmate– and very rarely bothered with waiting for permission to tend to their patients. Had he reacted poorly to that method, or was this nurse simply more aware of ‘bedside manners’ –at least when dealing with that one– than most of the asylum’s staff? He watched through a well-perfected mask of boredom as the newcomer grumbled wordlessly and moved his arm to allow her access, and it was only then that Jonathan got a better look at him and realised something else that was quite peculiar.

The newcomer’s upper body was bare –which in and of itself wasn’t that strange, given where they were– but there were traces of dull silvery metal visible on seemingly-random stretches of his grey-tinted skin… although, that wasn’t the strangest thing. That particular honour went to the gaping hole spanning from around the fifth rib down to the tenth, left open and unbandaged and allowing more slivers of metal to catch the disgraced psychiatrist’s eyes. It was a wonder the boy was even alive, let alone conscious.

Latex-gloved hands nudged gently at the open wound, garnering little more from the animal-eyed teen than sharp hissing; a fact that Jonathan found mildly surprising, given his earlier petulant protestation. “Oh, yes, this does look like it’s healing nicely. No signs of infection, the bleeding’s stopped, and it even looks like your insides are starting to piece themselves back together… Are you sure you don’t want this to be bandaged, at least?”

“Positive,” the verdanet growled, baring his teeth once more in a feral expression.

“Alright…” she sighed. “I suppose you’d just tear them off again, if I did, hm?” The thunderous growl she got in return was more than enough of an answer, prompting the nurse to shake her head ruefully. After another few minutes of inspection, Jodie straightened to look the youngster in the face –not quite meeting his golden gaze. “I can’t seem to find any indication of the origins of this terrible wound, though… Could you tell me what happened?”

“Ran into a trident, and said ‘hello’ to a lightning rod,” the newcomer answered, managing to keep his tone completely deadpan despite the occasional hiss and twitch. Jonathan had to admit that the verdanet’s self-control in the face of such obvious pain was… impressive, to say the least. “Then rocks. Lots of sharp, pointy rocks.” The nurse merely hummed and smiled in a way that was clearly meant to placate him, earning her a dark look. “And you don’t believe a word. Great. Really.”

Oddly, Jonathan found that he did believe the curt reply, to some degree. Such a thing would explain the damage to the youngster’s body, albeit not why the youngster had survived it.

“Oh, no, I do,” she chirped, before schooling her expression into something more akin to a disappointed kindergarten teacher. “That was a rather silly thing to do, though, wasn’t it?” Without waiting for a response –clearly not expecting one– she produced a penlight from her pocket. “Now then, I need you to not bite me when I touch your face. Can you do that for me? I want to check your eyes.”

Biting rumour, confirmed. Given the newcomer’s fanglike eyeteeth, Jonathan wasn’t really expecting anything less. He watched as the youngster’s eyes narrowed again, zeroing in on the gloved appendage close to his face, and those sharp teeth were bared once more. To her credit, Jodie held her ground and waited, once more wearing a cheerful smile. The silent clash of wills continued for just one more minute, before the teenager let out a sharp forceful hiss and jerked his head up and down, almost imperceptibly; his discomfort with not only the situation but also with her proximity was glaringly obvious, so the obedience came as a surprise… Another detail for Jonathan to pursue later, perhaps, if the urge struck him.

“I’ll bite if I want to…” the boy growled half-heartedly, before letting out a low whine in time with each flash of light into his eyes. As the penlight clicked off and the nurse started to jot down another few notes in his file, the verdanet blinked owlishly for a moment to clear the spots that must have clouded his vision. “When do I get to leave? I kinda got some things I need to do…”

She paused, humming tunelessly and shifting her weight onto one leg. “Well… if you can stay awake long enough, this time—”

“That’s because you morons keep drugging me!!” the newcomer snapped.

“—I could inform Warden Sharp that you’re up for a chat. He wanted to speak with you, after all.” Jonathan had to give her some props; she didn’t even flinch at the youngster’s loud outburst. “I’m afraid that we can’t simply let you leave before then, so would you like me to do that?” A sharp jerk of the head and a quiet growl were the only response she got, and she strode briskly out of the room with a wide smile on her face.

 


	6. Not One Straw Out of Place

Jonathan remained silent after the nurse left, lazily sweeping his blue gaze around the room for a full minute –he counted the seconds ticking by– before he allowed his eyes to return to and settle on the green-haired boy, only to find the youngster staring straight back at him, prompting him to blink before he could stop himself. Pulling a well-practiced smile onto his face, so much like the ‘pleasant’ ones he used to habitually wear while working with his patients, the redhead offered his temporary roommate a nod.

He watched with a surprisingly-large amount of ironic approval as the verdanet’s brow furrowed in thinly-veiled suspicion. Good. Jonathan didn’t appreciate fools.

“Who’re you?” the newcomer asked testily with a growl still buried under his words, while hunching his body forward slightly as if to protect something.

“Doctor Jonathan Crane, although I also answer to ‘Scarecrow’, on occasion,” he replied smoothly. He had anticipated one of two reactions; either there would be burgeoning respect for his profession –whether he still possessed an active license or not– or there would be a look of disbelief that someone like him, in his situation, could possibly carry such a title… what he didn’t anticipate was a scrunched up expression of frustration. Jonathan raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to one side just a bit. “And you?”

“Zet… My name’s Zet,” he grumbled, scowling. The youngster’s expression shifted, daring him to do or say something, but he wasn’t sure what… so, Jonathan simply nodded, taking the boy’s odd name in stride. Perhaps it was an alias, or else he was stranger than even the former psychiatrist gave him credit for. When the expected response apparently didn’t come, the sour mood that had bent the boy’s spine even further lifted as if it was never there, earning the redhead a toothy smile, of all things. “Okay, you’re about ten thousand times better than everyone else, so far.”

Jonathan allowed a snort to escape him. “Really? Why do you say that?” It was so easy to slip back into old habits, weaving his words to prod but not confront and keeping that smile on his face –just a little upturn of the corners of his mouth– and keeping his eyes focused but certainly not unblinking…

The boy offered a one-shouldered shrug. “You didn’t ask if that’s all. Everyone else that’s asked my name thought there had to be more to it than that. There isn’t.” Another smile –smaller this time– slid onto Zet’s face when Jonathan nodded again. “Plus, I like ‘Jonathan’ better than ‘Quincy’… it sounds more like a name, even if it’s longer than most of the ones I’m used to.”

Jonathan filed that away in his growing mental notes, as well. “It is one of the longer names around,” he conceded after a moment. Being liked to any degree hadn’t factored into his expectations, and certainly not so quickly. Most people… just didn’t. Then again, if the verdanet’s pride had been bruised by everyone else he’d met so far in Arkham, then perhaps it wasn’t quite so surprising after all, and he wasn’t one to decline an opportunity when it presented itself so readily on a silver platter. He decided to try a bolder question. “Why are you in here, Zet?”

A noncommittal noise came from the other bed. “Psh, I don’t know… Apparently, the guards of this place found me washed up on the shore, or something. Then, I was put in here, when they saw I had part of my torso missing.” The youngster let out a quiet grunt. “What about you? And… can I call ya something a bit shorter than ‘Jonathan’?”

“‘Jon’ will do fine, as will ‘Crane’.” Jonathan offered a one-shouldered shrug of his own, seeing no real reason to deny the boy’s request. “As for why I’m here…” the disbarred doctor trailed off with a low hum. Should he tell him the truth, or spin a lie that he may be caught in, later? Judging from everything he already knew or could guess about the newcomer, Zet had no clue about the nature of their location, and it seemed almost unduly cruel to keep the truth from him on that particular matter… then again, Jonathan disliked being seen as something less than what he was… “There are people who believe that I’m unwell, aside from any injury that you can already see,” he answered in a measured tone, surprising himself with his choice; giving a near-truth was always one of the safest forms of telling a falsehood, after all.

Zet tilted his head to one side, regarding him with wide and curious eyes, then nodded a few moments later. “So… you mean that people think you’re crazy…”

“Yes, that is what I meant.” He carefully kept his tone as even as possible, unwilling to prod the boy’s perception in either direction, and waited for any other response.

With a huff, the boy rolled his eyes, prompting Jonathan’s eyebrows to attempt to disappear past his hairline. “You don’t seem crazy to me… You even seem less crazy than anyone else I ever bothered learning the name of, actually.” Zet stated matter-of-factly.

Jonathan smiled and dipped his head, keeping any barbed quips about the teenager’s own tendencies to himself, not quite ready to ruin a good run with such a small detail. Idly, he wondered whether the boy had intended to reveal such a large piece of the puzzle, before returning his attention to Zet’s face.

After a short period of silence, the verdanet let out another hum, his brow furrowing. “Can people even treat craziness…?”

The much quieter tone surprised him, and Jonathan found himself tilting his head as well. Did the newcomer truly have no comprehension of mental health or the field of psychiatry? No-one who had such a firm grasp on the English language really had any excuse… and yet… for some reason, Jonathan decided to take some degree of pity on the boy. “Most often, yes, if you know what you’re doing and have the resources to act on it.”

“Huh… I… didn’t know that.”

That much was obvious, but once again he kept such things to himself. Jonathan regarded the verdanet once more, while the youngster’s thoughts seemed to stray from the confines of the room. The tales hadn’t been blown that far out of proportion regarding how young he appeared to be, that much was clear, although no-one had mentioned –that Jonathan overheard, anyway– the fact that Zet seemed to be rather childish… even when compared to his apparent age of somewhere in the range of fourteen to seventeen. The propensity for violence would probably serve the boy well in Arkham’s walls, supposing he didn’t challenge the wrong person, although Zet’s protectiveness of his personal space could become an issue for him… as could that naïveté of his; he seemed to be a terrible judge of character, trusting Jonathan so easily.

Strangely, the redhead didn’t think that Arkham Asylum’s oddities would be that confronting for the teen, at least not on principle, having so clearly had previous exposure to multiple individuals that he deemed to be ‘crazy’… including by choice. Perhaps there was more he could do with Zet? If what he’d seen so far was any indication, it wouldn’t be boring, and had the chance of being rather enlightening if Jonathan did it just right. Step one was already taken care of –Zet seemed to trust him, somewhat– which meant he could move on to step two… cementing the bond by being what the animal-eyed boy wanted him to be.

“Hey, Crane? They’ll let me outta here if I pretend to be normal, right?” The newcomer’s face and voice both held a plaintive note, nearly hidden under the hastily-constructed mask of curiosity he wore and the sea of other emotions that wove through his tone. Jonathan was actually rather impressed, and the question presented him with the perfect opportunity. A source of information was never something that a child who was lost in unfamiliar surroundings would refuse, nor was a friend.

Jonathan could handle being thought of as a friend –for now, anyway– considering that he used to do it on a daily basis and even got paid for it. “Of course,” he replied with a smile, making sure to add a touch more warmth to his expression. “There’d be no reason for them to do otherwise.”

 


	7. Gotham Breathes

“Talk of strange phenomena has become somewhat of a staple in this city over the past decade or so… but when there’s seemingly no costumed figure behind it, that’s when Gotham gets curious. Tonight, we’ve got Police Commissioner James Gordon here in the studio with us; maybe he can shed some light on the matter.” The blonde reporter smiled at the camera for a moment, before turning her smile to the man seated beside her. “So, Commissioner, what do you think of these reports?”

“Miss Vale, we’re treating every one of these incidents as seriously and methodically as we can,” the greying officer replied, shaking his head and adjusting his glasses. “To tell you the truth, they’re pretty much outside of everything we’ve dealt with before.”

She shuffled the papers in front of her, then tilted her head. “Most of them are regarding sightings of strange creatures, correct? Are there any theories about where they come from, or if they’re simply mutated from animals we’re all more familiar with?” Vicki Vale ignored the scowl Jim Gordon sent her way, keeping her well-practiced smile trained on his face.

“You got any suggestions?”

Vicki paused, her smile faltering for a moment. “Well, maybe these,” she held up a grainy photograph of a quadrupedal creature that appeared to resemble some form of squat canine, were it not for the thick scales covering its body and the horns sprouting from its head, “could be related to either alligators or man’s best friend.”

Jim took the photo from her. “Doesn’t look much like a dog to me.”

“If these creatures aren’t mutated animals, then what are they? Gotham’s public deserve to know, Commissioner.”

He sighed and shook his head slightly. “When we have that information ready to share, the GCPD will make an official statement, but no sooner. For now, it’s best that people simply go about their days as close to normally as they can, and report anything odd to the authorities.” The photograph fell from Jim’s hands to the surface of the bench in front of them. “These sightings have been few and far between, so far, and no-one’s gotten seriously hurt without trying to get too close to these things. For now, we’re working with the zoo’s staff to round them up before anything especially bad happens.”

“But aren’t there some reports of aerial creatures, as well? How will you ‘round them up’?” she pressed, digging out another photo and showing it to him; it showed a four-winged bird-shaped creature with a snakelike neck and large three-toed feet.

“As I understand it, that’s something the zoo people are putting together… Something like stringing nets between choppers, was the suggestion, I think.” Jim shrugged, but was interrupted from saying anything further by a ringtone. He fished out his phone, and stood up. “I gotta take this.”

While he moved off of the set, Vicki turned back to the camera. “That was Commissioner Gordon. We’ll bring you more on these incidents when we can. Now, on to the weather.”

 


	8. Signed, Sealed, Delivered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing some of the 'speaking in rhymes' that is used in various Scarecrow storylines... Not all of these will be exact to the rhyme itself, as he'll be twisting them to suit his purposes.

Warden Sharp arrived in the hospital room with that same nurse about half an hour after she left; in the meantime, Arkham Asylum’s newcomer had retreated into a fitful silence that was only broken by snatches of soft musical humming that Jonathan couldn’t identify. Jodie picked up the teen’s file once again, flicking through it and pausing every few moments to fiddle with a pen and purse her lips. Sharp ignored both the nurse and the former doctor’s presence, making a beeline straight for Zet’s bed with more than his usual air of pompousness. The stout man’s cane thudded loudly on the floor as he arranged his body into what he undoubtedly believed to be an imposing stance –back and arms and legs straight, feet set widely apart, hands resting on top of the red crystal at the cane’s apex– before clearing his throat.

Quincy Sharp standing at his full – _meagre_ , a quiet voice in the back of Jonathan’s mind insisted with a warped cackle– height was so common a sight in Arkham that most residents had learned to tune the man’s intentions out… but throughout the display, Jonathan found it unusually difficult to keep the smirk off of his face, especially when he noticed the verdanet’s deepening grimace.

The warden, however, seemed to either be utterly oblivious to it… or else was deliberately ignoring the boy’s reaction. “I heard that you were somewhat coherent, now,” he stated, fixing his hard gaze on the boy’s face.

“Yep,” Zet countered easily, interrupting the warden with a grin that was perhaps a little bit too toothy set firmly in place. “So, what’d ya wanna say? Was it something like ‘sorry I was so quick to run away last time, I’ll do better now’?”

Sharp hid his twitching frown rather well, all things considered. “No. What I want to know at the moment is this… where did you came from most recently, Mister Zet?”

Another grimace twisted the teenager’s face, accompanied this time with what seemed to be an involuntary retching noise. “No ‘mister’, drop the ‘mister’, it’s just ‘Zet’… Sheesh, can you people get that right, already?” the boy groaned. “As for where I’m from…” He paused, opening his mouth fruitlessly a few times before snapping it shut with an audible clack and a low growl. “I… don’t think you’d’ve heard of it. It’s… a tiny place up north.”

Interesting… The hesitance suggested a lie, but everything that Jonathan had garnered already about the young verdanet hinted that he was a terrible liar. In his experience, while it was often those who talked a lot who were the best liars among their peers –talking rings around anyone else– it was just as likely that they were the worst –talking so much that they tripped themselves up. Coupled with the emotional earnestness Zet had already shown, and the redhead was almost positive. Clear avoidance behaviours when faced with conflict or confrontation were added to the doctor’s growing mental notes. To the boy’s credit, there wouldn’t be many who would bother pressing him for further details… not in Arkham’s walls, anyway.

The warden certainly didn’t seem interested in proving Jonathan wrong. Sharp let out a toneless hum, his round face pinching in response to the teenager’s words. “You were hardly dressed for such a climate, apparently, but I digress. Onto the next question. Your considerable injuries, how did you receive them… and how did you survive it?”

One of Zet’s green eyebrows arched and his eyelids slid halfway closed, blinking very slowly a couple of times before responding. “You serious? If you don’t believe what I’ve already said, then you sure as hell won’t believe me on this!” He snorted loudly, his face scrunching up for a moment. “Lightning hurts like nothing you’d have ever felt, but even someone like you could probably survive being struck, fruit bowl.”

For all of a second, the room fell into an odd sort of silence while the other occupants processed the verdanet’s choice of words, then Jonathan let out a low chuckle that rang loudly in his ears –despite raising his free hand to his mouth in a half-hearted effort to muffle it– even as the warden started to splutter indignantly. Unable to refrain from some form of comment, the doctor drawled out, _“Round and round the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel…”_

“That’s more than enough, Crane!” Sharp bit out, rounding on him, prompting Jonathan to eye the shorter man’s rapidly-reddening face with a sort of disjointed fascination. “This conversation doesn’t need such ridiculousness, after all, so you can no doubt keep your strange habit to yourself,” he added, clearly trying to regain some control over both himself and the situation.

Really, Jonathan could barely help himself… _“The monkey thought ‘twas all in fun, pop goes the weasel~.”_ He would have thought that they knew better than to expect him to back down before he was done, whether they’d succeeded in drugging him or not. The clacking of shoes on linoleum signalled Jodie’s disappearance –no doubt to find any available orderly, or even a guard, just in case things started to go awry– and he allowed himself another smirk. Jonathan glanced at the other bed, but was surprised to find amusement making Zet’s golden eyes appear to glitter. No further encouragement was needed for him to let another quip escape. _“Down by the bay, where the watermelons grow, back to my house, I dare not go, ‘cause if I do, my mother will say, ‘Did you ever see a pig? Wearing a wig?’, down by the bay…”_

“You got to that, all because I said ‘fruit bowl’?” Zet asked with a wide grin. When Jonathan nodded, his smirk widening, the teen let out an unabashed snicker that shook his lean frame. “Yup, I like you.” He winced just a moment later, prompting a raised eyebrow from the redhead. “…Shut up, I meant to do that.”

“Of course you did.” Jonathan replied with a small smile.

Stuck between the pair and fighting to compose himself once again, the warden cleared his throat loudly, then pointedly turned away from the doctor in an effort to reclaim Zet’s full attention. “Before you both get too comfortable… I still have questions for you, young man.” A mutinous groan from the verdanet made Sharp’s shoulders tense visibly. “According to the men who fished you out of the water, you were apparently conversing with someone or something that they couldn’t see, during your shocking bout of lucidity upon discovery on our shores. Care to elaborate on that?”

The boy hummed. “Lucidity means being fully awake, and all that shit, right?” he countered, perhaps a beat or two too late to completely dissuade the warden’s obvious assumptions, and Jonathan wondered idly whether or not Zet recognised the accusations hidden under Sharp’s questioning. When the balding warden gave a quick nod in response, a flicker of frustration danced across the youngster’s face.

Jonathan’s thin frame shifted, his spine straightening but for a tilt pulling his head to one side –things were starting to slide towards far more interesting topics, it seemed. He kept his mouth shut, however, biding his time for now.

“I’m not even sure I was ‘lucid’…” Zet continued. “I mean, yeah, sure, my eyes were open and I was doing stuff, but… D’you ever try suggesting that someone who’s sleepwalking is nuts, Fruit Bowl?”

Another chuckle to bite down, another flush of red on the warden’s skin… It was as if the youngster’s defence mechanisms revolved around getting people either flustered in the extreme or downright furious with him –at least from the way the conversation had gone thus far– which was completely ludicrous, all things considered. Zet’s efforts to avoid delving deeper into the topic couldn’t fully mask the truths hidden within, and anyone with half a functioning brain could see the boy’s apprehension.

The clapping noise of shoes neared the door; a pair of broad-shouldered orderlies hurried into the room, but paused and hovered by the entrance when nothing immediately seemed to catch their attention. Sharp glanced at them for a moment, nodded slightly, and then looked back at Arkham’s newcomer. Zet stared back unblinkingly, brow wrinkling when he noticed that the warden seemed unmoved. In fact, Sharp seemed more triumphant than anything else. “You haven’t yet answered my question, Mister Zet.”

A harsh growl ripped through the air, setting the warden and the orderlies on edge. The gold-eyed teen sent Sharp a heated bestial glare, his upper lip pulling back from his teeth in a way that struck Jonathan as being very reminiscent of Waylon Jones –or ‘Killer Croc’, as he seemed to prefer– and he fought the urge to smile. “No point, Fruity, you’ve already decided. Don’t feel like arguing with a mushy wall.” Zet’s words came out as a sort of strangled warble, clipped and smouldering with sudden ire… which appeared to deflate from the boy’s body just a few seconds later. He huffed, every visible muscle tensing, and then swallowed loudly. “I didn’t talk to anyone that wasn’t there. I may’ve thought aloud, but lots of people do that.”

“Yes,” Sharp agreed tersely with a deep frown. “Especially in an asylum, so –as the warden of this establishment– I am quite familiar with such behaviour.” Zet’s eyes widened, no doubt catching the threat laced into the warden’s reply, and he opened his mouth to retort but Sharp cut him off before he could begin. “For now, you’ll be staying with us, until we can be certain that you don’t already belong here.”

Jonathan narrowed his eyes, unsure whether to point out the many flaws in that plan… or to stay silent for the chance to better satiate his growing curiosity. On the one hand, the redhead had never been the most overly-ethical man –especially in his chosen professions– and if there was one thing that constantly gnawed at him, it was an unanswered question. On the other hand, while the boy was clearly abnormal mentally and physically, that didn’t mean in and of itself that he ‘belonged in an institution’… and he did so love proving Arkham’s staff wrong…

As usual for the rake-thin man, curiosity and silence won out.

If it weren’t for the youngster’s literal snappishness, he’d likely have been shipped off to one of the hospitals in Gotham, the freakish storm that had isolated the island having ended a few hours before Jonathan had been admitted to the Medical Centre. He watched the warden leave the room in an overly-dignified huff, followed less than a minute later by the two orderlies.

Jodie re-entered the room, a folder marked ‘Patient File’ clasped in her hands, and she took a seat next to the verdanet’s bed. “So, I’m going to have to ask you a few questions, it seems…” she chirped, paying no heed to the bewildered look on Zet’s face. “Before, we were keeping your body fed through an IV –until you ripped it out, that is, which was a really reckless thing to do– but now the kitchen staff will need to know… do you have any dietary requirements, allergies or otherwise?”

A sort of lull descended on the room, and a crooked grin spread slowly across the former psychiatrist’s face as he let out a quiet pleased hum. _“…Doctor Foster went to Gloucester, in a shower of rain, he stepped in a puddle, right up to his middle, and never was heard from again…”_

 


	9. Worse Than a Monday

Waiting by the gleaming spotlight on top of the GCPD headquarters had never been one of his preferred pastimes. Commissioner Gordon scowled, clenching his teeth just that little bit tighter when a screaming roar reached his ears.

“Seems like you’ve had your hands full, lately.”

He jolted, spinning on the spot until he caught the black-garbed man in his sight and swallowed a few choice profanities when he noticed that Batman didn’t seem the slightest bit abashed, as usual. “You have got to stop doing that!” Jim huffed, then he shook his head with a muffled groan. “Any idea where these things are coming from?”

The vigilante grunted a negative. “All I can tell you so far is that the first signs that they exist are about as old as the first sighting on public record… and that there’s more than just the two kinds that were on TV.”

“More?” he groaned again, louder this time. “What else is there?”

Batman fished out a thumb drive from his belt and held it out for the policeman to take. “At least five in total, including the two you already know about…” He paused for a moment, then forced out a long hissing breath. “I found a fresh carcass –half-eaten and around five feet long– in the sewers, it looked like some sort of horned fish. There’s also something in the gardens on Miagani Island, although that one seems to be a bit better at avoiding being seen; I haven’t managed to get a clear image of it yet, other than what looks like old and bloody scissors…”

“And the fifth kind?”

“…That one would be best for you to see for yourself…” Batman nodded at the drive in Gordon’s grasp. “It’s the white one, bipedal and very big.”

With a small frown, Jim Gordon glanced down at the tiny piece of hardware for a moment, then looked back up to find his company had vanished. “…Every damn time…”

He returned to his office and wasted no time in plugging the device into his computer. Many photos and a few video files of the strange creatures invading Gotham’s borders greeted him; he skipped over most of them, singling out those that showed a white creature, and opened the first picture file.

“What the…?”

The thing was white, alright –covered in gleaming white fur with deep black splotches around its upper body. However, that was about all of its appearance that the police commissioner could make heads or tails of. There was a long tail that ended in what appeared to be a single dull red bat wing, while most of its upper body was made up of what looked to him like a bunch of furry black worms.

The videos featuring it weren’t any better, managing to confuse him even more while he watched drone footage of the creature somehow using its ‘worms’ to chew through a streetlamp. “No wonder he couldn’t describe it… The thing doesn’t make any sense!”

Gordon closed each of the files, heaving a sigh. Now if only they could round them all up without incident and before the city erupted into a widespread panic… that would be nice. So would knowing where they’d even come from, but that would be little more than a luxury at the rate things where progressing.

And it was only Tuesday…

 


	10. Before the Storm: A Lesson in Pain

_He let out a harsh grunt as his body hit the floor yet again, sharp hot pain shooting through his chest –another cracked rib, no doubt. Hissing through his teeth, he forced his attention away from the discomfort before gathering his legs under him and pushing himself into a low crouch. His blue-clad tutor loomed over him, deadly lance held rock steady just an inch away from his throat._

_“Pathetic.” Ziekfried snarled, tilting his head as if to look down at him from a better angle. “I thought you were more agile than that, clown… I’m starting to wonder if you’re even worth my time.”_

_Another hiss escaped him and he leapt to his feet, baring his teeth up at the older male without thinking. “One more time! I think I’ve almost got it, now!” The lance moved so quickly that he almost didn’t manage to duck out of the way in time, narrowly avoiding losing his windpipe to its razor-sharp edge. “I mean it…!”_

_“You’ve been saying that for months, and I’ve yet to see any actual improvement.” Cold crimson eyes narrowed at him. “I’ll give you one more chance, then I let the others try to force some use out of you… Not today!” his teacher snapped, halting the hopeful grin on his face before it could truly settle. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how many blows you’ve taken… I haven’t got the patience to hold back anymore.”_

_He groaned petulantly, falling back to the floor with a huff. “Fine… Can you at least leave the targets out, this time? I wanna—…”_

_“No.” Ziekfried’s tone was sharp but somehow almost suspicious. It was a small miracle that he managed to resist the powerful urge to flinch or gulp loudly. It wasn’t like he’d actually done anything to warrant it, after all… this time. “You’re needed in the laboratory.”_

_Every muscle in his body stilled. “…Th-the lab…?” He inwardly cursed his voice; too quiet, too wobbly. After clearing his throat, he looked up at his tutor –already at the door to the practice arena– while trying his hardest to seem unperturbed. “He sure likes to go overboard with that crap, doesn’t he?”_

_The blue-clad man paused, turning slightly to glance back at him. “He’s efficient. You could learn a thing or two from him, on that topic.”_

_Not wanting to push the matter further while his body still hummed in pain, he waited until Ziekfried was out of earshot before snorting loudly. “I thought efficiency meant doing what’s needed and not anything more than that… Going overboard isn’t being efficient, it’s the opposite of being efficient.”_

_What would happen if he simply… didn’t go?_

_Other than being hunted down and dragged –probably flailing and shouting– to the lab, regardless. That would only happen after a while; perhaps he had a few hours of potential freedom before his ‘job’ caught up with him? It was a risk that he was willing to take; it was a risk that he was always willing to take._

_With half-swallowed grumble, he hauled himself back to his feet once more. Time to vanish for as long as he could manage._

**~*~**

_He’d managed all of an hour before the mad scientist caught up with him; an hour before his very bones thrummed with barely-restrained electricity, stemming from the golden blade-like claws digging into his neck…_

_Apparently, he was late._

_Apparently, being late this time meant that Alhazred was seething silently –never a good sign, why wasn’t he hissing or screeching in his ear?– while seemingly debating just how much he wanted to hurt the wayward boy._

_Not for the first time, he found himself wondering ‘why’… Nothing special, just a general ‘why’._

_“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Alhazred finally broke the tense silence, although the sheer murderousness did very little to ease his apprehension. “If it’s not one thing, then it’s another –do you actually plan these out, or do you just fluke it?”_

_In any other situation, he’d probably have started to laugh at the level of distaste in those last few words, but as he opened his mouth to give an answer he could feel the claws tighten for a moment. Then he was thrown against the nearest wall._

_“When you have an appointment with me, you attend it. Do you understand?” Once again, he opened his mouth, ready to start one of their usual bantering sessions… Amber heat and invisible blades filled the room, and the only thing that came out of him were a series of incoherent yells._

 


	11. Decisions, Decisions

“You’ve each heard of our surprise guest, already, no doubt?” Warden Sharp began as he sat down at the head of the conference table. A thin folder lay in front of his interwoven fingers, and the other people gathered around the table eyed both it and him with varying degrees of curiosity. Each and every one of the psychiatrists in his employ had been gathered for the meeting, along with representatives from the asylum’s medical staff, and even from the security personnel.

All for the sake of one person.

Normally, Sharp left the assigning of a therapist for a patient to those more schooled in that field, but things were certainly not normal this time. “The primary reason for this meeting is to discuss his case.”

“Well, what do we know about him?” asked one of the older psychiatrists present, one Doctor Gretchen Whistler; the severe-looking woman was known for a level-headed approach to every patient in her care, a no-nonsense demeanour that allowed her to take the many threats thrown her way without so much as batting an eyelid. “It is best to pair patients with someone who can work well with them, after all.”

Quincy’s hand came up to nudge his glasses further up his nose before he made to answer. “All that I’m aware of is that he uses a single nonsensical word as his name, and various unusual physical traits.” He flipped open the manila folder and spread the loose sheets held within around the table.

“According to the attending nurse, he’s prone to rejecting conventional medical treatment, so that might be something to consider.” One of the medical staff supplied in a quiet voice. The warden blinked for a moment, before identifying the speaker as one Doctor Thomas Elliot –quite a decorated surgeon, but not the most personable nor particularly ambitious. “He’s manageable enough, as a person… terrible as a patient, though.”

“Dislikes treatment? Any reason for that?” asked the red-haired Doctor Sarah Cassidy with a small frown, leaning forward to lock gazes with Doctor Elliot, earning nothing more than a shrug for her efforts.

Across the table from Gretchen, Doctor Penelope Young reached out to gather all of the sheets into a single pile once more, looking over each one with an intense expression on her face. “With that appearance, and the regeneration ability mentioned here, he’s probably some kind of metahuman –like Ivy and Croc.” A frown cut into the brunette’s forehead. “Possible schizophrenia?”

“Evidently, he –as he puts it– thinks aloud.” Sharp stated, leaning back in his seat. “Personally, I’m not sure that there’s any true evidence of that excuse.”

“Perhaps, given your current workload, Doctor Young, you should allow someone else to read over that?” interjected a deep and steady voice with a note of amusement. Penelope flashed a cutting look at the bespectacled Professor Hugo Strange, opening her mouth to retort, only to be interrupted again. “I am not suggesting that you cannot handle him, merely that one person can only take on so many cases at once,” he said, his tone now carefully-soothing.

“No, no, I’m more than happy to take this one.” Doctor Young insisted, waving a hand dismissively. “I assure you, of course, that if he proves to be too much, I’ll be keeping very clear notes for whomever takes over from me.”

Strange smiled, the immaculately-trimmed brown beard lining his jaw bristling with the movement. “Glad to hear it.”

“Shouldn’t we be concentrating more on learning about the patient’s condition and needs than on one-upping each other?” Doctor Whistler pointed out tersely.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Sharp nodded, slipping back into a more businesslike attitude. “For now, at least, Doctor Young shall take the boy’s case, and we’ll see how events pan out. Understood?” When no complaints reared their ugly heads, he allowed himself a satisfied grunt, glad to have the matter settled for the foreseeable future. Of course, that brought him to the next port of call… “You’re to arrange his initial interview as promptly as possible, understood?”

She nodded, wearing a smile that seemed a trifle hungry which the warden immediately ignored –the ambitious woman was surely eager to get to work. “I’ll arrange it as soon as the meeting’s done.”

“Perfect. Now then, were there any thoughts, concerns, or questions?”

At the far end, a scarred man let out a loud snort. “Yeah, do we need any special protocols for this one?”

Sharp regarded the guard for a moment, before shaking his head. “No, Officer Boles, not as yet. Outside of being rather petulant, the boy doesn’t seem to be too dangerous. You’re welcome to keep an eye on him, though.”

Doctor Cassidy straightened a little in her chair. “I have one. Why was this boy admitted so quickly? He showed up during that storm, right? How do we even know that he’s in need of psychiatric treatment? Is he a new ‘rogue’ I hadn’t heard of?”

The bald Doctor Stephen Kellerman let out a chuckle. “That’s a few more than ‘one’, Sarah.” He paused, then turned to face Quincy. “Although, they are good questions. Warden?”

He waved a hand as if to physically brush the concerns away. “There was a great deal of suspicion regarding the boy’s mental state when he arrived, and he’s yet to be particularly cooperative in sharing any details about himself that we can’t guess for ourselves. To be brutally honest, if he isn’t already on that oh-so-‘esteemed’ list, than it likely wouldn’t have taken him very long to earn a spot.”

The redhead doctor grimaced, but let the subject lie. “I suppose that’s all from me, then…”

“The worst that could happen is that we find he’s completely mentally-sound, and have to release him from our care…” Professor Strange said. “I don’t really consider that to be such a bad thing, do you? Given the circumstances that we Gothamites are so well acquainted with?”

“But the legality of the thing…” Doctor Kellerman pressed, frowning.

“Better to be safe than sorry, in this city, wouldn’t you say?” Strange countered with another smile.

 


	12. Codebreaker

In all seriousness, Rudy was quite used to going places that most wouldn’t dare to venture –it was part of the job description when you wandered the wilds of the world, after all– and caves usually rated reasonably highly on that list. Normally, however, he entered caves from the mouth, or perhaps from above… Simply finding himself in the middle, however, was a touch out of his realm of expertise.

The blue-haired teen stared around the surprisingly-well-lit space, brandy-gold eyes taking in the sight of metal platforms and even a fair amount of machinery, most of which he could only guess as to its purpose. The cave was actually quite large with a gushing waterfall spanning the width of its mouth, the noise drowning out the much more eerie dripping of moisture from the arching ceiling; it didn’t fully mask the chittering and rustling coming from between the darkened stalactites, however. He pushed that out of his mind, focusing back on the illuminated areas, and –after noticing the large screens suspended above some kind of terminal– Rudy made a split-second decision.

Surely, he could learn something about where he’d found himself, if he could just get that thing to work.

Booted feet approached the computer with soft and tentative steps, while one of his hands curled around the butt of the weapon strapped to his thigh –his trigger finger twitched aimlessly, unsure whether settling into place was the better choice or not. When nothing leapt out at him, teeth gnashing and claws ready to rend flesh, he relaxed slightly… though his eyes flicked up to the ceiling every now and then, slightly unnerved by the knowledge that he definitely wasn’t alone in the unfamiliar space. Stopping in front of the machine, Rudy hesitated, biting his lip and throwing another quick glance around the cave –no-one’s there, why was he being so cautious about that, of all things?– before allowing his free hand to rest lightly just beside the buttons.

The machine stirred to life without any of the usual whirrs, the multiple screens lighting up and filling themselves with words and pictures so suddenly that he barely managed to swallow his yelp of surprise. He tried to scan each screen simultaneously, lasting only a minute or so before he screwed his eyes shut and shook his head.

“Wait, wait…” Rudy muttered, his mind starting to spin from the rapid influx of information flashing across the screens –far too quick now for him to even comprehend. Instantly, the deluge slowed to a trickle, drawing a small smile onto his face. Out of habit, he glanced over his shoulder, a half-crafted explanation already on his lips; the lack of any other person in the cave made the azuret pause and heave a sigh. No need to explain to the creatures clinging to the cave ceiling, after all. Again, the teen shook his head, forcing his attention back to the eager-to-please device at his fingertips, releasing his grip on the gun at his hip at the same time.

The screens were plastered all over with what he could only assume were news reports, each focusing on new arrivals to a place called ‘Gotham’ –Rudy guessed that was the name of the area he was now in, not that he’d ever heard of it before. None of the people covered in those seemed the slightest bit familiar, prompting another sigh before he noticed another –and apparently newer– article…

“Is that… a Garm?” As the whispered words left his mouth, the article showing a photograph of a black-scaled pseudo-canine expanded to dominate the screen displaying it. “So… ‘strange creatures appearing all over Gotham’, ‘unknown origin or intention’, ‘presumed dangerous’…” He scanned through the article for anything of use, that one being replaced by another similar piece once he was left disappointed. Then another… and another after that…

Rudy frowned. There was very little that could be done to completely purge a place of the creatures, once they made the region their home, but perhaps he could do something to help… after he knew more about where he was –let alone the friends that he’d seemingly left behind.

Reaffirming his goal with a deep breath, he nodded. With such a ready source of information at his fingertips, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity… regardless of whether it brought him any trouble –this machine was in far better condition than any other he’d ever seen, after all, so no doubt it was maintained by someone. He’d have to risk the potential confrontation for trespassing or using the device without permission, as this chance could prove to be invaluable. Keeping that thought at the forefront of his mind, the azuret returned his attention to the machine.

Could it teach him about the city, and –wait, what, just how big were those towers?– more importantly about the sorts of dangers that might be found within its borders, aside from the creatures he already knew of?

Another slew of text and images flashed across the screens. “That’s too fast.” Rudy muttered, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards. Obligingly –perhaps even slightly abashedly– the rush slowed yet again to a much more comfortable crawl. Despite himself, he blinked and smiled outright; it really seemed to respond well to speech, unlike practically all other machines of its kind that he’d encountered. That was definitely something that he could make use of, and to test his theory, the teen took a deep breath to steady himself, and picked out a recurring term from many of the articles and reports. “Tell me about—…”

“I think you should very carefully reassess what you’re about to say, young man.”

It was long-honed reflex that had Rudy drawing his weapon and levelling the twin barrels at the chest of the old man who’d entered the cave without his notice, and it was a roiling cocktail of confusion, surprise, and suspicion that kept his aim steady. The azuret’s brow furrowed, his head tilting just a bit to one side while he waited for the man to say or do something else. His other hand didn’t leave the machine’s surface –now using it as an additional brace for his stance– but if he’d been paying attention to the screens, he would have noticed a profile on ‘Alfred Pennyworth’ appear, complete with an image of the man he’d nearly shot in the heart.

Apparently unperturbed, the man continued. “If you were to consider putting your weapon aside, perhaps we could come to some sort of arrangement?” The notes of –admittedly slightly forced– dry humour in the man’s voice eased the tense lines of Rudy’s body more than his actual words ever could, and he replied by completely lowering his aim… although he didn’t re-holster the gun just yet. Accepting the gesture, the man offered a small nod. “Might I ask where you came from?”

Staying silent, Rudy studied the older man for a bit. Straight-backed poise, well-groomed appearance, precise manner of speech… It would be far too easy to dismiss him as nothing more than a manservant of some description, but there was a steely strength hidden under it all that gave the teenager pause. Underestimating people wasn’t something Rudy did very well. “…I don’t believe you’d have heard of it,” he answered at long last, keeping his voice as even as possible. “However, let’s just say that I come from a small seaside town called ‘Surf’… for now, anyway.” The final three words left his lips as nothing more than a bitter murmur.

Now, it was the elder’s turn to frown slightly in confusion. “Oh dear, I suppose you may have a point… well, supposing that you’re telling the truth.” Rudy realised that the greying man had kept his hands clasped together behind his back for the entire conversation so far –trying to maintain an air of calmness, or hiding something?– making the teen struggle to keep his weapon lowered. “Would you mind terribly if I invite someone else to join in on this conversation?” the man asked, nodding in the direction of the machine behind the azuret, only moving closer when Rudy shook his head slowly and took a few steps away from it.

Brandy-gold eyes watched the older man carefully, noting the traces of tenseness in the other’s shoulders, and Rudy found himself impressed by his self-control. “Who are you talking about?” Not that he had a clue as to how exactly the machine could contact anyone, in the first place; to his knowledge, machines like that were devices to store and process information, not for communication.

“What is it, Alfred?” asked an entirely new voice, coming from the machine. Rudy’s head snapped up to look at the screens again, only to find them now showing a moving image of a man wearing some sort of black mask or helmet with hornlike prongs on either side of the cranium. “Who’s that?”

Even from the angle the azuret was at, he could see a wry smile growing on the greying man’s –Alfred’s– face. “That’s why I’ve called, sir. You see, I haven’t the foggiest idea.”

Despite the persistent itch in his trigger finger, and the confusion making his thoughts swim around in his head like a school of panicked fish, the teen forced his attention to focus on the masked face. “My name is Rudy… who are you?” Sharp blue eyes narrowed at him through the screen, prompting a series of perplexed blinks. “Am I supposed to know who you are?”

“I’m Batman.”

 


	13. Vulnerable Truth

“Bat… man?” Rudy’s forehead creased as he tried to process the masked man’s name –or maybe it was some kind of title, as he honestly couldn’t tell. The azuret shook his head; now wasn’t the time to get tripped up by such things. Forcing his expression to smooth out, he returned his attention to the screen. “Where am I, other than a clearly-modified cave?”

It was Alfred who replied. “Surely you knew, before you started to use the computer?” That earned another sharp look from Batman, which in turn was answered with a soft sigh and a curt nod. “Yes, indeed, sir. Its sudden activity is what alerted me to something potentially being amiss.”

“So you call it a computer…” the teen murmured, before raising his voice to a more regular level. “I’m sorry for using it without permission.”

Batman harrumphed, narrowing his eyes in what was an obviously-well-practiced glare, pinning Rudy to the spot; the azuret was somewhat glad that he didn’t shrink back or even flinch. “I take it that you’re new to Gotham.” It wasn’t a question, but the teen nodded anyway. “How did you bypass the security protocols, not only for the cave itself but also for the computer?”

Briefly, he contemplated spinning some sort of lie, recognising that the truth would seem fanciful, at best… then he brushed the thought aside. It wouldn’t get him anywhere in the long run, and he had a nagging feeling that –if discovered– it would make things worse… outright. Plus, he reasoned, he wasn’t that good at maintaining any kind of falsehood, especially without someone else to help him keep his story straight. As such, it had to be the truth. He took a deep breath. “I didn’t get in here though the cave mouth, or any other real entrance. One minute, I was tending our campfire… and the next, I was just over there.”

He raised his empty hand to point at the exact platform he’d materialised on, waiting for any comments from either man. Nothing, apart from expressions of surprise and confusion. Rudy resisted the urge to shrug; at least they weren’t trying to interrupt him before he finished…

“As for the computer…” he trailed off, suddenly unsure how to continue. Should he simply say that he had absolutely no clue why such machines seemed eager to just… work… for him? All he did was touch it, after all, and not a single button needed to be pressed. Then again, that one responded to vocal commands, so perhaps –just perhaps– it wouldn’t be as strange to these people as it had been for his friends, the first time he’d done it in front of them. “It just… worked?”

Batman let out a near-growl sound, but Alfred interjected before the masked man could continue. “I suppose that may be one way of putting it… Is that a regular phenomenon?”

“Regular enough, I suppose…” Rudy offered with an awkward shrug and a small grimace.

The edges of the computer screen went fuzzy for a moment. “That’s enough beating around the bush. I assume you want something… tell me.”

Once again, the teenager remained silent while he weighed his options, few as they were. Trusting a masked person was usually considered to be naïve at best, foolish or even dangerous at worst, yet at the same time… there was something about Batman that he couldn’t help but find worth the risk. “My friends, they… I don’t believe that I was the only one to be so suddenly relocated.”

He watched as the sharp iciness in Batman’s eyes warmed and softened slightly –so it really was a human under that mask. “I take it that you want my help with finding them.”

“I’m not asking for free help,” Rudy replied, choosing his words carefully. “I noticed a couple of things in those articles… You have some kind of ‘vigilante reputation’, for one. I could help you, in return for you helping me find my friends, and maybe learn more about just what happened.” The azuret could feel the masked man’s gaze turn calculating once more, and hurried to add, “I can hold my own in a fight, after all.”

“If you carry a gun, then I can only assume that you believe so, at least.”

The word ‘gun’ was uttered with such thinly-veiled contempt that Rudy nearly did flinch. “It’s… not quite the same thing, but I suppose that doesn’t matter right now.” The weapon slid back into its holster as he spoke, if only as a show of good faith, and the lingering tenseness in Alfred’s body eased in response. “That’s not the only thing…”

“What else?” Batman pressed, a note of impatience creeping into his voice.

“…Those ‘unknown creatures’.” Rudy noted the sudden increase of interest in what he was saying, the moment that those words left his mouth. “I know a bit about them… and it may be connected to my arrival in this cave.”

It was only after another minute or so that Batman made any move to give an answer, time that Rudy spent swallowing down the hard lump of nerves growing in his throat and struggling to keep his hands still. “I’ll put you through your paces before I even think about letting you help. But,” he said, before Rudy’s hopes had much opportunity to fall, “I see no reason not to look into whether or not your friends also came to my city… and any knowledge you have about those creatures may prove useful.”

Emotions that Rudy couldn’t even begin to name or describe flooded his system, but he tried to channel at least a fraction of it into his voice. “Thank you… Thank you so much.”

Batman gave him a quick nod. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Alfred, don’t let him go anywhere until I arrive.”

“Of course, sir.”

 


	14. Missing Friends

Batman wasn’t quite sure what to expect when he climbed out of the Batmobile… How often had he ‘entertained guests’ in the Batcave? The cavern was supposed to be secure, and yet… it had been breached, by someone who claimed to have gotten in by simply materialising out of thin air. A deep frown carved its way across his face, barely-formed plans for boosting his security even further flitting about in his mind. The black-garbed vigilante strode towards the training arena, where he could see Alfred keeping a stoic eye on the source of his most recent unease, taking the opportunity to catalogue what he knew about this ‘Rudy’ as he made his way through the cave.

When he’d seen the stranger’s vivid blue hair on his gauntlet-comm screen, he’d been thrown for a bit of a loop –especially upon closer inspection of the image, which had shown that either the teenager was quite dedicated to dying his hair… or it was entirely ‘natural’. Of course, the boy’s eyes were also unusual, being a mixture of yellow, brown, and red… Light tan skin and clothing that wouldn’t be out of place in a Western movie completed the image. In truth, if it hadn’t been for his sudden and unexplained arrival, Batman normally wouldn’t have given him much of a second glance, assuming him to either come from more rustic or rural areas of the country, or merely be some kind of hobbyist… well, hoping that he was, at least.

Wanting to track down familiar faces in an unfamiliar environment was entirely understandable. Being able to ‘just get the Batcomputer to work’, however, was not. At all. Then there was the fact that he claimed to have information about the creatures that had appeared throughout Gotham.

The teenager’s nervousness was almost painfully-clear as he drew close enough to speak without raising his voice, or using the cave’s natural acoustics –he hid it fairly well under a near-perfect stillness, while his eyes gave it all away in their fitful swapping between the Bat and his butler. Batman stopped and levelled his hard blue gaze at their unannounced ‘visitor’. “I want to hear it again… How did you get in here?”

Rudy gulped and offered a quick nod. “I found myself on that platform, over there,” he pointed to the same spot he did the previous time, “only a second or so after throwing more wood onto our campfire. We’d made camp… about half a day’s walk south of Rosetta, give or take.”

It was the same story, just with more detail. Batman gave a short nod of his own, deciding to address the unfamiliar place name another time; chances were that ‘Rosetta’ wasn’t on any map the azuret could show… not that Batman would be remotely familiar with, that is. To the side, he noticed Alfred silently arch an eyebrow for a moment, before returning it to its usual place.

“I’ll need to know what to look for, regarding those friends of yours.” Batman stated as brought his right arm up to press a few buttons on the gauntlet, unwilling to simply turn his back on the boy just yet, even to ensure the Batcomputer recorded the pertinent parts of their conversation via the main console. Secondary recordings would have to do for now.

“Well, um… Cecilia has short blonde hair and green eyes, and is a bit taller than I am. Zakk is also blond, taller again, with light brown eyes. His hair’s actually quite long, too.” Rudy turned his gaze up to the cave ceiling, his brow furrowing in thought. “I… can’t be sure that they’d be wearing the same things as when I last saw them, so there’d be little reason to cover that detail…” he murmured, then grimaced. “How common a sight are swords?”

Despite himself, Batman blinked. That was definitely worth bearing in mind… “Not very. Most bladed weapons in this city are knives, and it’s hardly a common sight for a law-abiding citizen to be carrying even that.”

Rudy flinched. “Then that’s another thing. Zakk wouldn’t think to hide it… not at first, anyway.”

“How likely are they to draw attention to themselves, otherwise?” Batman’s eyes flicked across to the Batcave’s elevator entrance; Alfred was no doubt leaving to fetch refreshments as he so often did when the vigilante returned home. Almost as if in contrast, Rudy gave no indication that he noticed a thing.

The teen shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then moved a few steps closer to Batman before seeming to think better of it. Despite wearing cowboy boots, each step was impressively-quiet; perhaps there was some validity in the boy’s earlier claims of battle experience. “…Very, at least in Zakk’s case. I don’t think Cecilia would have too much difficulty, but… we’ve never been displaced like this, before.” An apologetic look manifested on the azuret’s face. “I’m sorry about… breaking in… and about using that computer without permission. I just…”

“You were lost, and no-one was down here to tell you otherwise.” Batman finished for him. He had to admit –at least to himself– that if the boy was a threat, he was also a very good actor. After a few more button-presses on the gauntlet, he fixed Rudy with another hard stare. “We’ll go over the information you mentioned later… Are you ready for my first test?”

He didn’t perk up, but he did straighten, nodding with an odd air of solemnity. “Without this, correct?” Rudy unbuckled the holster from his leg and belt, hesitating for a moment before holding it and the weapon still sitting snugly inside the leather out for Batman to take.

It was a show of faith that would make most people cast aside all doubt of the teen’s motives in an instant… Batman wasn’t most people. He took the offering, however. “Yes. I want to see what you can do, without a firearm.”

“…Understood.”

 


	15. Dress to Impress

Zet let out a loud and rather theatrical sigh. He’d been reasonably awake in the medical centre –they told him that there was more to the facility than just its hospital portion– for almost two days. Two long, mind-numbingly boring days. The people who visited him tutted about his injuries, even as the wounds faded before their very eyes… and they still refused to believe that he might be telling the truth when he fervently insisted that –once the skin was fully-repaired– there was no longer any cause for their obnoxious levels of concern.

Not that there really was, to begin with; he couldn’t really fault them for trying to do their job… he just didn’t need their help. Every poke and prod –every questioning glance– only served to make him bristle all the more, boredom and all manner of pent-up energies combining in a toxic mixture that nearly had the verdanet chewing through his own wrists… or the nurse’s wrists, as he honestly found himself caring less and less about seeming ‘normal’ the longer he had to endure that syrupy tone.

He cast a forlorn look at the now-empty bed beside his; Crane had been moved to a different room shortly after Zet’s talk with Fruit Bowl. Oops, he meant ‘Quincy Sharp’… not. Unfortunately, that left the gold-eyed teen to stew, his nerves growing rawer and rawer without anyone to talk to at a moment’s notice. The solitude was… painful. It ate at him, and –despite his best efforts to keep his mind off of the matter– the room shrank from the overbearing silence.

His fingers dug into the orange fabric he held, hidden away under the thin blanket. Zet didn’t quite remember when they’d removed his clothes –probably while he was drugged out of his mind and as loopy as a Gremlin– and, even more embarrassingly, dressed him in loose pants instead. While they seemed to have done away with the bodysuit and armour that he could only assume weren’t in the best condition after he’d been so thoroughly injured, they had left his favourite accessory laying on the small table next to his bed. Well, it had been. The moment he saw it there, after that chat with Fruity, he’d grabbed it and made certain that it was never more than a few inches away from some part of his body. It was kinda sad, but the long scarf felt like a lifeline to his sanity.

“Okay, now I’m just being ridiculous…” he muttered, then paused to listen to the sound bounce from wall to wall… like a bouncy-ball.

_Ridiculous… what a glorious understatement._

Zet’s eyes flicked from surface to surface, a sardonic smirk spreading across his face as he imagined a vaguely-spherical glowing orange mass of plasma and distorted faces acting like some kind of manic spring, all over the room. Even the masked scientist he was forced to spend so much time with back home knew better than to leave the verdanet without anything to occupy his mind for too long… and that guy was undoubtedly more crazy than any of the ‘crazies’ here.

_Like you’re any different._

A scowl replaced the smirk and he snorted, drawing his knees up to his chest and resolutely burying his face in them. “Oh, that’s helpful!” Zet growled, his shoulders tensing as a mental image of a fang-filled mouth grinning maliciously filled his vision. “Isn’t there something better to do?”

_You could play with them…_

“Bad idea.”

_Or you could sleep… Aren’t you tired? It’s this place sapping your strength?_

Wrapping his arms tightly around his legs, Zet tried to force his thoughts in another direction. What was happening back home? How long had he even been gone? Did anyone notice his absence? What about that weird-yet-interesting Crane guy, when would he be able to chat with him again? What sort of slop would they try to shovel down his throat today? Would they be stupid enough to use another needle on him?

 _You’re stalling~…_ Dark mirth flooded his system, drawing out a shudder as a sense of vicious cold washed up his spine. _Are you afraid of playing a much more serious kind of game…?_

Thankfully, he was spared from any further chills –from that source, at least– as the door opened to reveal the same nurse who had been most in-charge of him, Jodie… or something like that, anyway. She was nice enough, he supposed, even if she didn’t really listen to him that much. He stared at her when she gave him one of her usual fake-cheery smiles. “…Hi.” Zet said lamely, offering an awkward smile of his own.

“Good morning, Mister Zet.” Oh yes, that was one of the primary things that no-one seemed to listen to him with, even though he’d told them ‘it’s just Zet’ more times than he cared to admit. “Today, you get leave Medical, isn’t that great?” She didn’t wait for any reply. “I just need to take some final notes, unhook you from all of those machines, and then the lovely people outside will be taking you to get properly settled in.” Jodie finished with a gesture towards the door.

“Uhm, sure… Go ahead.” It was nice that they’d quickly learned that he hated most of the things they insisted on tethering to his body; every machine had taken a thorough explanation of its purpose –twice– and at least three disentangling incidents before he’d let them stay attached. It was also nice that they realised that he didn’t like being touched by people wearing white –he hated white with a passion– but they just couldn’t seem to grasp that it wasn’t the ‘being touched’ part so much as it was the ‘wearing white’ part. All because it made him think of… Zet bit into his cheek with a slight frown, cutting off that train of thought before it went too far. He didn’t need to think about the mad scientist back home… and oh shit, he thought about it.

_She’d look so much better in red, don’t you think? Staring in wide-eyed wonderment at what you can do?_

Oblivious to the violent images gnawing at the edges of Zet’s mind, the nurse went about her business rather quickly –perhaps she’d at last picked up on the barely-contained jitters running through the verdanet’s body. The machines were systematically checked and powered down, notes were scrawled in the folder in Jodie’s grasp… It only took a few minutes before she stepped back with a wide –honest, at long last– smile. “There, done!”

Before he could properly respond, the door opened to reveal three other people. Two of them were wearing light green uniforms, while the third was clearly some kind of guard –given the greater prevalence of armoured padding in the charcoal-grey uniform, along with a few weapons strapped to his belt.

Zet blinked a few times, then set about trying to memorise the newcomers. All three were well-built, that much was obvious from the get-go. The guard was a guy, as was one of the people in green, while the woman in green made him do a double-take and blink several more times; he’d never seen someone with such brown skin before, nor with such frizzy hair –he decided to dub her ‘Peppercorn’ for the time being.

The guy in green –who, for now, was getting called ‘Fudgemug’– had black hair and a goatee, and held out a bundle of orange cloth for Zet to take… which he did, after untangling his limbs and slowly getting off of the bed, so as not to startle anyone unnecessarily –he didn’t feel like seeing how jumpy the guard was with that gun of his… The guard was saddled with the nickname of ‘Pastamop’, because Zet couldn’t think of anything else, nor could he see the guy’s hair to be certain that it didn’t look like pasta.

So maybe he was a bit hungry. Not surprising, really, considering that all they’d actually fed him was slushy goop that wouldn’t look out of place coming out of a parent-bird’s throat for their chick to gobble up… But he was getting off topic.

Zet stared down at the bundle in his hands for a moment, then back up at the expectant gazes of the trio. “Uhm… right. Right. Uh, so…?”

“You’re supposed to put it on, kid.” Fudgemug stated plainly, raising an eyebrow at him.

In response, he felt his cheeks grow hot. “What, you want me to put this on… here, now?” These weirdos had already seen far too much of his skin for him to be happy with the idea of changing in the open.

Surprisingly, the pair in green merely gave him almost-identical knowing smiles… Pastamop, however, let out a small cough. “Look, it’s gotta be done. If it makes you feel any better, I –at least– won’t look. I’m just here as backup, anyway.” The guard paused, then added, suddenly looking a bit unwell, “Good to see you’re healed up, though. That wound was something else…”

Jodie cut in, just as she was almost out the door. “There are some screens in the corner, you could use those.”

Peppercorn sent her a nod and pulled out a few fabric screens from their place against the wall. “There you go, precious. You may need to get a bit more used to the idea of being seen while naked, though. ‘Specially if you turn out to need the supervision… Fair warning.” She shrugged, smiling again. “Plus, apart from those shiny bits, you’ve probably got nothing we ain’t seen before.”

_Well, that escalated quickly, didn’t it? Maybe they just want an excuse to do whatever they want with you… Maybe you should show them why that’s a bad idea…?_

Ignoring that train of thought was difficult, but he managed to shove it aside enough to zip into the offered shelter. Zet took a few moments to force himself to calm down slightly before shaking out the orange bundle to get a better look. It was a jumpsuit –not that unlike the one he wore by choice, albeit somewhat looser– wrapped around a pair of short boots. There were straps and loops and buckles built into the garment, most notably –due to the sheer strangeness– around the arms and legs, making it look like it was meant to enable bindings using the outfit itself. That idea made him grimace.

“We don’t really have all day… If you want to eat something, I suggest you hurry up.” Fudgemug stated loudly, earning himself an unseen stuck-out tongue.

Eating would be a good thing, especially if it was something chewy for once, Zet conceded silently. “Fine…” he drawled. The fact that he still had no real understanding of the place he’d landed in kept him from doing as he was told just yet…

_Seems like a glorified cage, don’t you think? All these uniforms, all these expectations…_

“Shut up…” Zet hissed under his breath. Making a quick decision –and hoping that he wouldn’t come to regret it– the gold-eyed youth shucked off the pants they’d had him wear during ‘treatment’, taking care to set his scarf to one side before he went about donning the jumpsuit. Two legs, two arms, up onto the shoulders and… The looser garment felt strange, he noted idly as he checked for any fastenings that he’d missed earlier. When nothing met his search, he squatted and stretched, intent on learning the range of manoeuvrability he had while wearing it.

At least the clothes they expected him to wear were close enough in colour to his scarf, so he deemed it safe enough to resume wearing it proudly.

_What will you do if they disagree? Will you bite them? Will you twist their bodies? Will you play a… darker… game with them?_

There was no viable reason, not that he could think of, so Zet could resolutely ignore that line of thought. A quick nip to the inside of one cheek and he could concentrate once more. He checked the jumpsuit over once more, looking for any signs of tearing from his tests –none at all, fantastic!– then he picked up both his scarf and the boots, and emerged from the sheltered corner.

Three pairs of eyes zeroed in on him –or more accurately, on the orange accessory in his grasp– and the slight frowns on their faces made Zet cock his head to one side with a frown of his own. “What?”

Pastamop sighed. “That’s…” he started, gesturing vaguely in the verdanet’s direction.

“…A scarf. My scarf, to be exact. I figured that, since you people didn’t take it away like the rest of my clothes, and this whole outfit is pretty much the same colour anyways, there wouldn’t be a problem…” Puzzlement oozed from every one of Zet’s pores… then the youth nearly let out a colourful string of curses when he noticed their expressions growing progressively more confused with each passing moment. He hurried to slip the knotted loops around his neck, letting the tails hang behind him –just the way he liked it, he loved the familiarity of the slight added weight. “See? Nothing wrong with it, right? Everything’s orange.” Zet said quickly, offering them a smile –although he made sure to keep from letting his teeth show that much this time, no need to rock the boat like that at the moment.

“You can’t wear that…” Fudgemug replied, rubbing his forehead with a sigh of his own. “It’s against—…”

“Can’t?” Zet interrupted lowly, nearly drowned out by the thudding of dropped boots, his voice now dripping with poison. The new tone didn’t go unnoticed, and they all tensed up; one of Pastamop’s hands moved to grip the baton slung from his belt, Peppercorn’s hands clenched into fists, and Fudgemug widened his stance into a more battle-ready pose. “I’m wearing a uniform for some place I still don’t know where or what the fuck even is, and you’re saying that I can’t… wear… this…?”

The guard held out his free hand, plastering a small smile onto his face. “Hey, take it easy, kiddo. We’re just trying to follow the rules, here.”

“There’s a rule that says ‘no scarves’?” Anger snapped at the back of Zet’s mind, cold and hot in equal –searing– measure. Without thinking, his stance shifted; feet further apart and perched on his toes, spine curving forward to maintain his balance, and fingers itching to curl –to pierce– like the claws he didn’t have…

“Not so much that, as… ‘limited personalisation’…” Peppercorn answered, before taking a deep breath. “Tell you what, precious, how about we all just calm down a bit, and we’ll see about letting you keep that. Someone’ll talk to the higher-ups, and maybe we can get it all official, okay?” Beside her, Pastamop nodded. “See? It’s either that, or we have to take it now, and you can get it back later, if you’re good…”

A deep growl told them all they needed to know, but Zet swallowed the sound after a few seconds and forced himself to nod and take a deep breath. “You’re not taking it… I’ll calm down, you’ll calm down, we’ll all calm down…”

_How pathetic… Getting so agitated over an ancient scrap of fabric…_

“You will? Great, good to hear it.” Peppercorn’s smile was bright against her dark features; she and her fellows relaxed as well, although Pastamop still kept his hand on the baton. “You gonna put those on?” she asked, pointing at the shoes on the floor.

Zet stared down at them for a moment, then shook his head. “Do I have to?”

Once again arching an eyebrow, Fudgemug snorted softly. “Well, not specifically… It’s just a bit odd if you don’t.”

“Then I won’t. I like to feel what I’m walking on.”

“Well, if you’re ready, we’ll take you to the communal lounge. You already made a friend in here, I heard, so I’m guessing you’d like to see them again.” Pastamop turned his body in that universal gesture of ‘let’s get going’, nodding his head towards the door for good measure.

Any residual hostility in Zet’s body drained at that, giving in to the obvious attempt at pandering. “You mean Crane?” He paid no heed to the way that all three of them grimaced, taking a deep breath, then another, and then a third. Opening his eyes –when did they close?– Zet looked at the trio expectantly, shoulders and arms deliberately loose, and his back straightened. “Let’s go, then.”

He followed them out into the bland and rather worn-looking corridor, hoping against hope that he wasn’t making a mistake.

_With your luck, it would be a miracle if you weren’t…_

 


	16. Of Flies and Penguins

Disdain was practically oozing from his body, rolling through the air in toxic waves that not even the rain could wash away, as he narrowed bright scarlet eyes at the fresh corpse in his grasp. Mere seconds earlier, the dirty vagabond had still been breathing –whimpering, begging desperately for his life, slimy secretions dripping from his nostrils and eyes– and maybe Alhazred had twitched his long claws just a little too strongly, maybe he had snapped the man’s neck and cut his life short by all of a few minutes in his impatience.

Not that the white-robed scientist truly cared, aside from his continuing predicament of lacking adequate information.

Zet had really fucked up, this time…!

Alhazred dropped the mass of meat and bones with a hiss, his golden-plated tail swishing this way and that under his levitating form. At least he’d managed to catch two words that might be of some use among all the drivel that had assaulted his ears. ‘Iceberg’ and ‘lounge’… Granted, he couldn’t be sure how they were meant to be used, in whatever context the cretin had intended… but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and –loath as he was to admit it– it was the best he had.

Tucked away in the alleyway, Alhazred considered his next move carefully. This city –which he should never have been anywhere near, damn that incompetent little idiot!– was large, and filled to the brim with humans… or at least, what he could only assume passed for ‘human’ in this place. There was no conceivable way that he could pass by, unnoticed –being so far removed from ‘humanlike’ in appearance, something that he was quite proud of, thank you very much– which would undoubtedly lead him into further infuriating situations with the locals…

In his experience, humans always had the most inane questions to ask; he could just imagine it, now. ‘Where are your legs’, ‘why do you have a tail’, ‘what’s with the golden mask’, ‘how are you floating’… the list was practically endless. His apprehension actually had Alhazred contemplating whether he should look into altering his appearance before venturing further into the city… just for a moment… then he let out a crackling giggle through clenched fangs at his faltering resolve, steeling it once again.

He was a master in his fields, and because of that –and a few other reasons– he didn’t need to meet the whims or desires of humans. Now, if only he could find someone who had enough of a backbone to be capable of speech in his presence, yet not so much that he couldn’t preserve the fragile tethers on his temper…

Another giggle burst out of his mouth as a plan suddenly slotted into place; at the same time, nearly-invisible sparks of energy began to dance around his claws. A trap –non-lethal, of course, which would be a challenge on its own– for the next human unfortunate enough to come close… a warping zone of sorts, designed to relocate whoever was caught in his web to wherever Alhazred chose… Such as the top of the pylon-like structure that towered high above the buildings that formed the alleyway.

When he was done, the only hint that there was anything different about the space just beyond the alley mouth was a slight visual distortion –a greenish ripple, like an emerald-tinted mirage– and with that completed, he concentrated on his chosen ‘end-point’… and vanished from the alley, appearing on top of the pylon just a moment later, ready to wait for his trap to be sprung.

He didn’t have to wait for very long. In less than ten minutes, the masked scientist was joined on his rainy perch by an amusingly-shocked man; Alhazred subtly extended his influence once again, dulling the wind around the pair to help his hostage keep some semblance of balance.

The man was short, rotund, and probably considered to be well-dressed… and possessed a large, sharp nose that looked astonishingly like a beak; Alhazred had to pause in his inspection to gauge just how human his prey even was, before returning to the task at hand. For some reason, what appeared to be the bottom of a glass bottle sat over his left eye, firmly wedged into the eye socket itself –this realisation coaxed out a quiet snicker, drawing the man’s attention away from his abrupt abduction at the same time.

“What the bloody ‘ell is goin’ on?!” the midget rasped out with a snarl.

Interesting, damaged vocal cords, as well? Alhazred filed that tidbit away for potential later perusal, along with the man’s apparent lack of reservations on seeing his captor. He decided to grant a degree of mock-appreciation for his hostage’s mettle. Keeping his voice as controlled as possible –he still had business to attend to– the scientist replied. “You’ve clearly been abducted. If you want to go back to what you were previously doing, then you’ll answer a few questions for me.” In the dim light and oppressive rain, his eyes seemed to glow from behind his mask; it generally seemed to help with… ‘persuading’… the stubborn or brash to cooperate with him, at least to a point.

The man in front of him was apparently no different. “You’ve got some nerve… How the fuck do you even expect me to answer any of your bloody questions, if you don’t fucking well ask them?” he growled.

Alhazred could handle some irritation-fuelled snappishness –he did that often enough, already. “Very well. Firstly, who are you?”

“The name’s Oswald Cobblepot, and you?” he said in a biting tone, adding ‘bloody twat’ under his breath as his eyebrows lowered as best as they could around his unconventional eyepiece.

“You can call me Alhazred, simply enough… I’m sure you’d have no comprehension of my title.” Snide defensiveness, meet almost-sugar-sweet derision… ah, his favourite. “My next question is, of course, where is this?”

Cobblepot’s mouth started to curl downwards, and Alhazred’s claws twitched as if in response. “This city? You’re in Gotham.” A snort reached the scientist’s ears. “Have you been living under a bloomin’ rock? All you have to do is look over at that Wayne Enterprises eyesore of a skyscraper to tell where you are.” With that, the short man gestured vaguely at a particular one of the large glass-sided buildings dotted throughout the city; honestly, he hadn’t even noticed it before.

Narrowing his eyes further, he pressed onwards with the interrogation. “Who holds the greatest sway in this city?” If he knew who was in charge –possibly whoever owned that ‘skyscraper’, given how opulent it appeared from where they were– then he might be able to use them, should the need or whim arise…

“That’s an easy one. Me.”

There was such confidence in the midget’s voice and posture, that Alhazred found himself a little amused by him. Perhaps he wouldn’t kill this one just yet… perhaps he could use him, instead. Information, potential entertainment, and –at the end of his usefulness– scientific plaything. “I see. Rather fortuitous for me, then. Now, my next question is… do you know of Falgaia?”

“No.” Cobblepot’s reply was short, but after a moment’s thought, he added, “What is it?”

The scientist’s fangs ground against each other for a few seconds, before he could formulate any sort of response. “It’s the name of the place I came from… Hardly important, right now, however.” He paused to recompose himself –don’t go killing a tool before you use it, you always regret doing that, don’t kill him yet. “Then, perhaps, you may have seen a green-haired clown?”

Now, it seemed like it was the midget’s turn to level Alhazred with an appraising stare, lips pulling back in another snarl; no doubt many lesser individuals had been sent into cold sweats by that very expression. “What business do you have with the clown?”

He blinked –even his tail and claws fell still– and didn’t answer for a full minute. Had he missed something? Oh, how he hated that… “I’m going to plunge my claws into his neck and make him wish he was never born…” he hissed out when he could.

Apparently, that answer suited Cobblepot just fine, as a dark smirk pulled the corners of his mouth upwards at the same time that a quiet chuckle rasped its way out of his throat. “Sounds good to me. I ain’t seen him for a while, though. If you want another lot of hands, feel free to come by the back rooms of the Iceberg Lounge, and I’ll hook you up. I own the place, after all.”

Work… with him…? What a novel idea. He’d never done such a thing… mostly due to the fact that no-one outside of the family had ever proposed it. Alhazred barely registered the revelation of the only coherent words he’d gotten from his previous attempt, more concerned with turning Cobblepot’s not-so-subtle proposal over in his mind. Should he take him up on it, or would it wear down on his nerves too much? “So that’s what he was referring to… how nice to know. Well, I’m not above working alongside those with similar interests, especially when there’s something to help sweeten the arrangement.” If he was going to lower himself to cooperate with his hostage, then he was damn well going to get something tangible out of it.

“Huh. Like what?” the midget asked with an avian-like tilt to his head, the rest of his body taking on the demeanour of a businessman. Good, he could handle that.

“I am a scientist, dealing primarily in… biological and chemical enhancements. Well, whatever strikes my fancy, really.” Alhazred’s face split open with a wide grin behind his mask, and his tail started to sway languidly. “I suppose you could get something out of that as well, if my subjects were affiliated with you…” It was only by an act of intense self-control that he was able to keep from breaking out into fits of raucous cackles as he watched the cogs start to turn in his hostage’s mind; the poor fool was actually considering it… he honestly believed that there’d be anything of them left –anything usable– when he was through with them!

With only a slight narrowing of his eyes, Cobblepot gave a small nod –maybe he wasn’t quite as gullible as he seemed, this might actually be fun. “That sounds like it’s got some potential… You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours, eh?” At that, the white-robed scientist finally let a giggle escape him, which the short man took as an affirmation. “All right, then. Just one more thing…”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t go abducting me again, you bloody wanker.”

Alhazred’s whole body shook with his mirth. “Very well… oh, and I have one more question,” he trailed off, his gaze flicking down to the streets below them. It was something he’d noticed shortly after realising that he’d been relocated so thoroughly… “Do you know anything about the energy running underneath the city?”

Puzzled, Cobblepot blinked a few times. “Under Gotham? Not a clue… though I can get some o’ my boys onto finding a way to figure that out.”

He couldn’t help it, really; continuing to release his rather characteristic laughter, Alhazred found himself almost purring his next words. “Much appreciated… I believe we might just be able to make this work –good and loyal manpower is always such a useful thing, after all. Now then, let me get you down from here.”

His hostage let out a bark of wry laughter, himself. “About bloody time.”

 


	17. A Penny for Your Thoughts

“You seem almost… happy? What happened?”

Jonathan let out a low hum, turning the page before looking up at one of the few people who still tried to start conversations with him outside of the interview rooms. The auburn-haired doctor briefly debated returning to his book without saying a word, but decided that the effort required for ignoring the self-proclaimed genius would be substantially greater than interacting with him. “Oh, nothing much, Mister Nigma, simply entertaining some rather… intriguing thoughts.”

The green-eyed man sat down opposite him, one hand supporting his chin and one dark red eyebrow arched. “Oh? Do tell. The things you come up with do have a certain tendency towards alleviating the dullness of this place, after all.”

With a quiet sigh and a one-shouldered shrug –the other was still a little stiff– Jonathan closed the book and allowed his gaze to lock onto his impromptu companion. Anything less than his full attention would just get… ‘problematic’, and he had no intention of dealing with the beginnings of an attention-starved puzzle-lover, no matter how entertaining it could be when he was entirely outside of the situation. “You remember the talk of a new face in Arkham.” It wasn’t a question, but the deceptively-mousy man nodded regardless. “I had a chance to meet him, and… I’m looking forward to speaking with him again. He’s quite an unusual one…” he finished with a chuckle.

“You’ve seen the phantom newcomer? Now you have to tell me more.” Edward’s voice was an interesting mixture of ‘careful’, ‘mildly-interested’, and ‘tell me more before I do something crazy’… It made Jonathan wonder for a moment just what sorts of tales the Riddler had heard about the asylum’s newcomer that he –the self-proclaimed ‘Master of Fear’– hadn’t.

The Scarecrow couldn’t resist giving Edward a crooked grin. _“What, oh, what to say…? That he’s just not scared, yet?”_ Almost giddily, he watched as the shorter redhead twitched; he then had to go and ruin it by composing himself again, just a moment later. Such a pity, really… so, naturally, a little bit more had to be said, coupled with a rasping snicker. Just to see what the Riddler would do next. _“Let him have a little taste –just an eensy-weensy itty-bitty spider, couldn’t do much more than that, there… Though, I didn’t get to see what it did. I think I’ll go a bit further, next time, see what he’s got buried in that cattish little head of his…”_

Heaving an overdramatic sigh –no doubt to cover his clearly-growing discomfort– Edward shook his head. “No, no, no… That’s not what I meant. You say he’s ‘unusual’, but haven’t actually said much of any substantial note… to anyone but yourself, that is.” He paused, green eyes staring at the bony redhead for a moment. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘cattish’?”

 _“I mean that he_ seems to be rather cat-like, at least in certain circumstances. It could simply be something similar to the case with Miss Kyle, I suppose.” Jonathan waved his hand as if to dismiss that train of discussion entirely, paying no heed to the way that Nigma’s body relaxed just a little. “I’m sure you’ll understand well enough, when you meet him… I don’t know how skilled he is with mind-games or riddles, though –didn’t get to that part.”

“It almost sounds as if you’re trying to do my work for me… and you didn’t answer my question.” Edward stated, adding a touch of a whine, followed by a tightly-controlled deadpan, for effect.

Doctor Crane smirked. “Not at all.” He supposed it was time to actually play the Riddler’s game, now, and he offered a slight inclination of his head. Slipping into ‘reporting’ or ‘lecturing mode’ was surprisingly easy, despite not having had to do so for several years. “He’s an adolescent, immature –even for that age range– and ridiculously-naïve. It seems like he uses antagonism both as a form of entertainment and as a deflection from subjects that he doesn’t want to talk about… and his pride may be comparable to yours, or mine. Also, it appears he’s from somewhere very far away.” Another smirk. “All of these would be fairly clear just minutes into having your own experience with him… as would his tendency for creating amusing nicknames, no doubt.”

Nigma was quiet –actually quiet!– for a few moments. “By that, I can assume that he may actually fit in with the rest of Gotham’s outliers…”

“True enough.” Jonathan chuckled. “Tell me, are you still eager to put his mind through its paces?”

“Of course. What you’ve given me is hardly enough to formulate any kind of legitimate picture of his cognitive capabilities, so I’m going to have to at some point.” Edward replied, scowling deeply.

Exactly as expected… In so many ways, the Riddler was almost as predictable as Gotham’s weather –cloudy with a high likelihood of some form of rainfall on at least three days out of every week– which in turn made it so easy to prod him in the right direction, without him necessarily catching onto what was being done. Crane offered him a small smile. “I think you’ll appreciate his feistiness, if nothing else.”

Edward eyed the ex-psychiatrist’s smile as it grew into yet another smirk –sharing a joke that he wasn’t yet privy to. “Riddle me this, Jon. I am loved and loathed in equal measure… but if you share me, I will no longer exist. What am I?”

“Are you trying to suggest that I should ‘spill the beans’, Mister Nigma?”

“What do you think?”

Jonathan laughed, a low and scratchy sound that made a shiver run through Edward’s body… and anyone else who was within earshot edged away from the pair of redheads. “Then think about it this way… _A wise old owl lived in an oak, the more he saw, the less he spoke, the less he spoke, the more he heard, why can’t we all be like that wise old bird~…”_

 


	18. A Small Drop in the Ocean

The communal lounge was in an entirely different building to the Medical Centre, and it was much fuller than Zet had initially realised before he was led through the doors by Fudgemug and Peppercorn; Pastamop had split from the group just outside the room, mumbling something about getting back to his post before someone called ‘Bowls’ got on his case about it.

As the doors closed behind him, Zet tried very hard not to think of how much they felt like the jaws of some gigantic ravenous beast. His usually-so-confident loping stride faltered despite his best efforts. It seemed like the room was a veritable sea of orange-clad bodies – _look again, you fool_ – and he swallowed a groan. His two green-clad escorts bade him somewhat stilted farewells and left the room.

That’s when Zet noticed the myriad of eyes fixed on him; curious, challenging, bored, hungry…

_They see your weaknesses, every single one. This is a tank full of sharks, just waiting for the smallest drop of glorious red… or is silver the better word, here? If you give them the chance, they… will… destroy… you._

He squared his shoulders, determined to keep the bubbling storm of emotions held tightly under his own skin, and scanned the crowd for the one familiar face he could. Tall and bony frame, dark orange hair, tanned skin that was riddled with scars, and blue eyes behind glasses –so, so blue… he didn’t even know that human eyes could be that colour… focus Zet!– should be unique enough in a singular combination, but luckily he had more than just the sense of sight to call upon.

Reading the ‘presence’ of a person was a knack that all members of his family possessed, and everyone had a special and indicative flavour… Zet had a whole section of his memory dedicated to cataloguing every one he came across –it became pretty much instinctual after a while. Crane’s was like a tight coil of cold tension, prickly like a blackberry bush, with just a flickering touch of gleeful mania…

_Remind you of anyone…?_

Now that he actually thought about it, the rake-like man was probably even weirder than he’d initially guessed.

_Fitting company, then._

The verdanet didn’t bother stopping the toothy grin that spread across his face, widening further when his eyes locked onto the very person he was looking for, nor did he waste any time in making his way over to Crane and the lean dark red-haired man seated opposite him –who instantly made Zet think of a mirrored and quickly-ticking clock on a computer screen, and how did that analogy work anyways?– with a spring in his step.

And the gazes seemed to intensify, for some reason…

_Why wouldn’t they? You are a strange creature –a beast that shies away from ever truly biting anything._

As Zet neared the pair, ‘Clock’ –as he’d temporarily dubbed the green-eyed man– looked up, traces of irritation pulling his features into a slight frown before they smoothed out in mild surprise… an expression than only grew when he plonked himself down in the empty seat next to Crane. “Heya,” he offered, practically chirping the word out.

It took all of a few seconds for Clock to shake himself back to apparent normalcy, time that Crane spent stuck in a staring rut with his eyes fixed on the verdanet’s face. “Greetings, and welcome to our humble abode.” One of Clock’s hands reached across the table –what was he supposed to do with that, again? Oh yeah!– which Zet grasped fairly loosely and shook after a moment’s pause. “I suppose you haven’t the foggiest clue as to who most of us even are, do you?”

“Nope.” Zet shrugged, letting go of the redhead’s hand. “First time in the area, and… my… family doesn’t care much for news.” He nearly hit himself –that was even worse than the previous ones!– but managed to keep from fulfilling that urge when a too-heavy sigh gushed from Clock’s mouth. “I… take it that a lot of you guys are pretty famous?”

Beside him, Crane finally stopped staring and let out a quiet snort. “Don’t get him started.”

“Enough skirting around the real subject here, Jon.” Sending a playful glare at the taller man, Clock gestured to his own chest. “I…” he paused for about half a second, “am Edward Nigma. The one –and only– Riddler!” he finished with a flourish, performing an exaggerated mocking bow without even leaving his seat.

“Another cool nickname, huh?” Zet felt another broad grin split his face in two. “At least I’ve got something I can call ya, other than Clock. Although, ‘Eggnog’ also comes to mind…” Too late, Zet realised that he’d let his mouth act before he thought about it.

_So typical… you never did learn when to keep that mouth of yours shut. And you never will._

Edward blinked slowly, a blatantly perplexed look plastered all over his face… and in the lines of his body, as well. “…What?”

“Did I forget to tell you?” Crane interjected before Zet could reply, smirking slightly… although the gold-eyed youth was positive that he was holding most of the expression back. “He called the warden ‘fruit bowl’…” The scarred man paused, lazily tapping his chin with a long thin finger. It seemed like he was either impervious to or deliberately ignoring the mildly-incredulous expression that was dominating Edward’s face –and that’s not something Zet had previously thought was even possible. “I just know I mentioned something about the nicknames… Hm, although, come to think of it, where do these come from?”

_What will you say? Will you tell them of the way your brain works? Like an unintelligible mass of half-stripped wires, sparking wildly with every random thought it can possibly produce?_

“Uhm, well…” He shifted uneasily in his chair. “The whole ‘fruit bowl’ thing was… A quince is a fruit, right? And he said his name’s Sharp, so cut-up fruit… Plus he’s kinda bald on top.” Zet glanced quickly from one redhead to the other. “As for calling you ‘Clock’, it’s just part of what came to mind when I saw you… though ‘Eggnog’ is more a play on ‘Ed Nig’ than anything else and really just kinda came out…” His voice had dwindled to a mere murmur by the end, Edward’s on-again-off-again stare feeding his urge to fidget and look anywhere other than either bespectacled man.

“I don’t know whether to be astounded or insulted…” the Riddler intoned flatly. “…I think I’ll give you some modicum of leeway just this once, mister…?” Trailing off with a questioning lilt, he waved his hand in a very recognisable circular motion.

“That’s great… uh, yeah. I’ll try to stick with your actual name –uhm, names– instead, from now on.” Zet offered a shaky lopsided smile, then opened his mouth to continue…

…only for Crane to interject once more, amusement and teasing admonishment seamlessly mixing together in his tone. “What about your usual fare includes taking offence at a mere –harmless– nickname? Oh, and his name is Zet.”

His head snapped around to pin the bony man with a narrowing golden glare. “I can introduce myself, y’know!”

_Then why did it take you so long? Somehow, it seems like your mind is moving only a little bit faster than a millennia-old tortoise._

“I happen to know of some tortoises that can move big distances fairly quickly, thank you. They’re called Tarasque.” Zet spat… then began to blink rapidly as realisation struck him. “…I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

 


	19. Three Strikes

And there it was… practically a proud declaration that there was something significantly different about the boy’s brain. If he were that sort of person, Jonathan would have pointed at Zet with the same kind of flair that Nigma was so famous for, let out a bark of triumphant laughter, and made certain that the entire facility was aware of the fact. As he wasn’t, however, a sly smirk slid into place instead. “You did. Perhaps the warden was onto something, when he demanded that you remain…”

“I’m not crazy,” the youngster growled, golden eyes taking on an almost feral glint as they smouldered at him, daring the psychiatrist to challenge the statement.

Jonathan very nearly did, before remembering that he was trying to play the role of the verdanet’s friend.

Edward, ever eager to stoke his own ego and validate his own perceptions, let out a mirthful noise that was completely unlike the wild cackling sound at the back of the doctor’s mind. “Not everyone here is, but that’s not to say that everyone shares the same level of clarity, when it comes to our states of mind. Take myself, for example; I’m far from insane, yet they keep insisting on trying to lock me away in here, simply for trying to promote a greater level of practical intelligence throughout the city…” he trailed off with another theatrical sigh, shaking his head ruefully. “Although, I can’t vouch for your own level of sanity just yet… Not everyone can sit next to Jon so readily.”

Honestly, Jonathan was certain that the former head of the GCPD cybercrime division had missed his calling as a stage-actor… He kept the thought to himself, however, focusing on the younger male, instead. He watched as the boy huffed, his ire deflating almost as quickly as it had come. Zet’s attention locked onto the Riddler. “Yeah, yeah, don’t know me well enough to tell, and all that shit… Wait, why’s that such a big deal? You were here before I was.”

Zet’s eyes fixed onto Jonathan’s face, wide and unblinking in his blatant curiosity. It was only then, with such close proximity, that the doctor noticed that the boy’s pupils were actually slitted. He really should have noticed much sooner, irritation at this gap in his observations warring with amusement at finding yet another trait shared between Zet and Killer Croc. “I have something of a reputation, you could say. Nothing more,” he answered smoothly, offering another of his carefully-pleasant smiles and expertly ignoring Edward’s arched eyebrow. “I suppose this one’s just not as cautious of me.”

“Hah!” the green-eyed rogue exclaimed, adding a tiny snort afterwards. “I simply prefer a more learned conversation partner, and you just happen to be part of that terribly small roster.”

“I’m honoured.” Jonathan didn’t bother even trying to hide his dry sarcasm. Once again, the verdanet’s attention returned to the other side of the table. Idly, the tall man wondered just what part of the asylum’s accommodations would play host to the newcomer for the night; would they try to put him in his own room, or would they bunk him with one of the more… ‘agreeable’… inmates? At least when he’d been working at Arkham, unknown quantities like Zet were initially put into their own spaces –if there was one available for use, which there usually was when one took into account the high frequency of breakouts. That being said, while it might be the safer bet, something told him that the boy would be… less than happy with such an arrangement. As such, Jonathan simply had to bring it up. “By the way, on an entirely different topic… Zet, how do you feel about spending the night alone?”

So he might have enjoyed Nigma’s squawk of ‘what kind of question is that, Jon’ a little too much, but it was the perfect stillness that clutched at the youngster’s body that intrigued him. “…You say what, now?” Zet’s voice was quiet –almost breathless, really– and Jonathan’s mental notes on the boy gained a new entry; he either had a fear of solitude… or of company when most others in the area were asleep… interesting.

Intent on soothing the ‘blow’, the blue-eyed man continued. “Just curious. You see, I may be able to help the staff put you somewhere you’re more comfortable… they’re not likely to ask without some input from a third party, after all.” It was an empty offer –Arkham staff seemed to delight in ignoring most of what he said, any and all suggestions he gave being scrutinised with a fine-toothed comb– but Zet didn’t know that… nor did he need to. Not yet anyway.

“Are you sure that your name is Crane, Jon?” Edward asked wryly, before adding, “I could have sworn you’re starting to act more like the proverbial cat.”

He shrugged. “As sure as I am of anything else.”

Taking the dismissal rather well, all things considered, the Riddler turned back to the boy with an eager glint in his eyes. “Now then, where were we?”

Zet physically shook himself out of his stillness, even managing to school his body and face into appearing almost relaxed. Jonathan was actually quite impressed by the effort. “Uhm, I think you were about to talk about some other topic…” he replied, although it sounded more like a question than anything else, then took a deep breath that he failed to disguise as a combined yawn and sigh. “As for your question, Crane, I don’t like being bored and I don’t really sleep, so… you can figure out the rest, right?”

Jonathan nodded. Nigma, however, once again seemed torn between feeling insulted or not. “‘Something’? Is that really the best you can come up with?”

“Well, so-rry if I got a bit distracted!” the boy hissed back, topping it off by sticking out his tongue.

Visibly bristling – _who’s acting like a cat, now, Eddie?_ – Edward planted both palms on the table and stood in a single motion. “Third time is a charm, as they say. My part in this conversation is over. Under most circumstances, I’d consider bidding you a good day, but not only is it rarely a good day in Arkham Asylum, but your attitude has yet to validate such paltry well-wishing on my part.” Then, with the barest of nods in the doctor’s direction, he spun on his heel and stalked away.

“What’d I do, this time…?” Zet groaned after a minute of stunned silence, letting his forehead thud loudly against the tabletop.

Slipping back into his assumed role, Jonathan smiled. “Edward’s just rather highly-strung. I actually told him about your defensive snappishness, and he’ll remember that soon enough. Besides, it’s probably better that he takes the time to cool his head some, before doing anything else with you, all things considered…” he soothed. The fact that he was neglecting to mention that his own interest in the verdanet was likely playing a part in the fact that the shorter redhead had left rather than lashing out… well, that was beside the point, wasn’t it?

This time, the boy’s groan was strangely piteous. “Right, I’ll try to remember that; Eggnog’s got an ego bubble…” His body slumped, crumpling in on itself in what was really quite an astonishing display. “I don’t have much luck not poking that kind of thing, even when I don’t want to.”

 _“Do you have much luck ‘not poking’ anything?”_ the Scarecrow teased with a crooked smirk. Zet’s eyes darted up to meet his own for a moment, flickers of suspicion hidden deep in the feline gaze –they vanished when the boy heaved a sigh, however. Another thing to file away… that was certainly not the reaction he’d anticipated. “Might I suggest you try exercising a degree of restraint, then?”

Air hissed harshly through the youngster’s sharp teeth in another sigh. “Yeah, yeah, only heard that about twenty million times before…”

It was time for a different approach. Jonathan shifted in his seat, angling his body to face Zet more completely, using the table as additional support… all so that he could more obviously give his full attention to the strange boy. The effort didn’t go unrewarded, either; Zet perked up as if he was just a child. “Edward did have a point, earlier, though… So tell me, Zet, is there a reason why you’ve singled me out for companionship?”

 


	20. Bait

That… was actually a really good question, now that Zet thought about it. Normally, he tried to stay away from those who stared unblinkingly –at times– or seemed clad in an armour of ice –most kinds of armour, really, it was just that ice was really annoying to deal with and he hated getting frostbite– or even those who bore almost any form of mania –it always bit him, right when he expected it the least– and yet… Crane was each of these, in some way or another… and still he’d latched on to the man like a lost puppy, all wet and shivering… The comparison brought an abortive growl to his chest.

_You’re stalling again… He’s still waiting for an answer, you know. Staring at the table will get you nothing… in fact, it’s pathetic. Raise your head, meet his gaze with your own, but do not show your weaknesses… Never show your weaknesses._

“Well, I, uhm, that’s… Familiar face?” he finished lamely. There was something wrong with this place… either that, or with the way he was dealing with it, Zet decided. He clamped down on the re-emerging desire to slam his head against the nearest solid and preferably-immovable surface, satisfying some of that nervous tension by latching his teeth into the long scarf looped around his neck and chewing –there had to be hundreds of fang-inflicted holes in the orange silk by now… it was kind of a wonder that the thing was still remotely intact. “Plus,” he added, exaggerating his words to ensure that Crane could understand him, “I kinda want to know more stuff about this place, and no-one in those other uniforms –‘specially the white ones– is gonna be trustworthy.”

It was a terrible line of reasoning, and sounded even worse when he put it into words… but, no-one had ever said that Zet thought everything through. Crane regarded him evenly, the expression on his face giving nothing away… not even that tiny upward pull on his lips seemed to say anything concrete…

As such, naturally, he had to. To break the poison known as ‘silence’.

“Did you know that Balloons have no real idea what they’re saying, even though they barely ever shut up?”

_You really are an idiot, aren’t you…?_

Okay, so perhaps that wasn’t the best topic, although who could really blame him for blurting out the first thing that came to mind, in that situation? Of course, it was quite funny seeing the lanky man blink several times in quick succession and then stare blankly at him as if he’d suddenly grown a third arm… Zet had gotten the impression during their first conversation that Crane rarely sported such expressions, so he considered it a small victory over utter –boring– normalcy.

_You mean a victory over sense, don’t you?_

“Shut up, I’m ignoring you…” the verdanet hissed under his breath, hoping that his company didn’t catch it, muffled as the words were by the dampening fabric still in his mouth. Despite his earlier slip up, Zet intended on maintaining the perception that his thoughts were unbridled and uninterrupted by any other, no matter what the depths of his own mind may say. Another trickle of dark humour prodded at the edges of his awareness, which he steadfastly ignored as soon as he noticed it.

At long last –even though it was probably only a minute or two, at the most– the scarred man let out another of his low hums. “No, I didn’t know that… But there is something that I know and you don’t. I’m actually finding myself feeling rather inclined to be helpful, in regards to you… I’ll answer your questions, child, don’t you worry.” He smiled, almost warmly –or maybe it was a trick of the light?– and propped his head up on the knuckles of one hand, bony elbow anchored on top of his book.

Releasing his scarf, the gold-eyed youth offered a lopsided grin. “You make it sound like that’s a rarity…” Zet almost corrected him on the ‘child’ comment, but decided against it; he could at least admit that –compared to expectations– his appearance may bring the idea up in people’s minds, especially those of adults. At least it didn’t sound like some form of insult with the way that Crane said it…

“Oh, it is.” Crane replied smoothly, smirking in a half-playful, half-knowing way that had Zet itching to find out the secret behind the words. “That reputation I mentioned? Let’s just say that it takes a certain special something to get me to be nice in any way.” He shrugged, then continued with, “It’s rather unfortunate, however… You’re being kept here without truly understanding where you are, aren’t you? That being said, I think it’d be best for you to learn a bit more on your own, before I fill in whatever blanks remain. Learning on your own power will be more fulfilling.”

“Eh?!” He jolted, getting halfway to his feet before slumping back down into his chair. “Why? What’s it to you if it’s ‘more fulfilling’ or not?”

_I knew it was too good to be true…_

“Hm, old habits refusing to die, I suppose.” Yet again, Crane’s answer came without missing a beat. It sounded honest enough, at least… “I used to teach –though that was years ago, now– and once one enters that world… well, I don’t believe you ever truly leave it. That, and that’s how it would be for me, if I were in your position.”

“…Fine…” Zet groused, a quiet growl that he wasn’t quite sure he actually meant burbling in his throat. “…Hey, there is one thing you should be able t’tell me, without going against that whole thing; last time, you said that you’re a doctor, but… what kind of doctor are you?”

Crane smiled again, and this time it was satisfied… almost smug, even. “A doctor of the mind.”

 


	21. Bestiary Bargain

A sigh heaved its way out of Batman’s mouth, even as his fingers dug holes into the arms of the chair in front of the Batcomputer. Reports, images, and meandering notes that weren’t really going anywhere covered every inch of the multiple screens attached to the high-tech machine; every piece of information related to the strange creatures plaguing his city… but none of it explained how to truly deal with them, let alone where they came from… or how to get them to return there. Soft clinking noises reached his ears, coupled with the sound of Alfred’s footsteps, and –giving up on fighting the butler over whether he’d be eating or not, let alone whether he’d make any headway on the current puzzle beforehand– he turned the seat around to meet the older man’s gaze evenly.

The raised eyebrow and twitching lips, however, he could have done without.

“Something plain, for now, sir.” Alfred stated simply, handing him a plate filled with sandwiches, before walking over to the nearest wall to hold out another for the person leaning against the rock. The blue-haired teenager started, blinking rapidly for a few moments before smiling and taking the proffered food with a quiet ‘thank you’.

In the time since meeting Rudy, Batman had attempted to track down any trace of the boy’s existence in official –and unofficial– records… so far, without any success. He’d run the kid through the basic training simulations he had, too, and Rudy had passed each one with varying degrees of ease. Bluntly, Rudy was frustrating him, and not because he was failing to meet the expectations placed on him.

When the basic simulations had finished, Batman had allowed the teen to wind down somewhat –he’d asked for a book, any book, and vanished into the pages almost immediately– while he returned to the mystery of the creatures. Now, however, it was time for the boy to hold up his end of the bargain…

“Rudy. What do you know of these?” Batman asked flatly, gesturing vaguely at the photos. Brandy-coloured eyes snapped firstly to him then to the screens, followed moments later by the azuret getting to his feet and moving to stand to the left of his chair, all while carefully remaining at arms’-length away from everything. “Like you, they seem to have come from… somewhere entirely different. And, they don’t all seem friendly.”

“They’re not.” The boy’s voice was quiet, more so than seemed typical. “Perhaps, I should do this one by one?”

“That would help.” Alfred stated dryly, now standing by Batman’s right side.

One of the teen’s gloved hands rose, pointing at one of the photos that had been lifted from a recent news broadcast; the creature’s canine-like body contrasted rather spectacularly with the dark plate-like scales covering it and the horns sprouting from the rear of its skull. “That one is called a Garm. They’re pack creatures… biggest ones are the leaders, and so on. They often send out scouts to look for prey or carrion, while the bulk of the pack stays near the den until called upon. Overall, they’re not that different to wolves in how they behave… it’s the fact that they can breathe fire that really makes them a handful.”

“Oh dear…” came from the vigilante’s right, the accented words sounding all the more weighted for their understated manner. “Might that be the explanation for the recent increase in arson activity, then?”

“Arso—… Oh, yes, probably. At least, it would make sense.” Batman could practically hear the boy’s shrug. “Let’s see… this one.” Rudy gestured at the other one that had been shown in that same broadcast; the four-winged creature looked out of place by any standard that Gotham knew, although even the practically-minded vigilante had to admit that the black and cream colour scheme the thing sported was quite striking. “Unfortunately, I haven’t come across that many of them, but that’s a Goldrake. Usually very territorial, and they’ll eat anything they can find, whether it’s alive or dead. When they land –which isn’t often, come to think of it– it’s almost always in a cave or some high-up crag… or similar. I suppose any of the large buildings in the city could be good enough for them. Oh, and they’re… is the term ‘poisonous’ if it’s exhaled?”

He frowned. “They exhale poison?”

“Yes. It usually wears off soon enough, if you don’t move around too much, but if they bite you then it’s an entirely different story…” was the answer, coupled with a grimace. “Though, there is one more thing…”

“What?”

“…They can make themselves get progressively faster and faster.”

Alfred cut in –perhaps he heard Batman’s teeth grinding together. “It sounds as if these beasts are the kind that you should immobilise first.”

“So it seems…” he replied, once his irritation had faded. With one hand, Batman shifted the images around, bringing the photos he’d taken in Gotham’s sewers to the forefront. “What about this one? Do you think it’s from where you are, or not?”

These pictures were clearer than the previous two –the lack of motion in the subject had helped significantly– and showed different views of a partially-eaten fishlike creature covered in blue scales… measuring somewhere around five feet from nose to tailtip.

Rudy frowned, cocking his head to one side. “…Maybe… a Rahab? I’ve only seen drawings of them, but it looks fairly close, at least. If you’ve got Rahabs in your water, then I suggest you find some way of limiting everything up to medium-sized watercraft from doing that much. They’re not something you want anywhere near a populated area… Bad-tempered, strong, and very fond of killing anyone swimming in their water, even if they have to destroy the boat they were on first. They hunt humans for sport, it seems.”

“And if no-one goes into or onto the water?” Batman’s eyes narrowed, a frown of his own starting to appear.

“…Then they might still be a problem. I think it was… up to ten metres? Ten metres away from a body of water that they can jump and crawl their way to?” A deep sigh from the teenager punctuated the next thing he said, “They don’t dry out very quickly, either. Not without outside help.”

Alfred harrumphed. “Is there anything ‘good’ about these?”

“Sorry, but… no, not really.” The azuret offered a shrug with the awkward grimace he wore, before returning his attention to the screens. “So, what’s ne—… oh boy…”

Batman had switched to the strangest creature he had any images of, the large white-furred mass having seemed to be one of the greater concerns after he’d watched it devour a streetlamp. “You know this one too, then?”

Rudy let out a long groan. “I’ve… never encountered one, but… yes, I know what that is. They’re called Greater Beasts… and they’re one of the most powerful –and thusly, dangerous– species I know of. Each of those,” one gloved finger jabbed at the black worm-like tendrils, “is a head, complete with a full array of senses… and a mouth. They eat things like buildings, vehicles, tools and weapons… even entire mountains if there’s either enough of them to work on it, or they’re given enough time… Luckily, if left alone, they seem to not notice humans or animals that much. It’s just…”

“They eat what humans use, correct?” Alfred finished for him. After the teen murmured an affirmative, the greying butler let out a sigh of his own. “A place like Gotham would be an all-you-can-eat buffet to these creatures, then.”

“I was afraid of that…” the azuret stated quietly, before taking a deep breath. “Are there any others?”

In response, Batman singled out the ninety-second clip he’d recorded in the gardens on Miagani Island. Leaves and flowers rustled as something moved quickly from place to place, coupled with the occasional flash of metal peeking through the foliage. The black-garbed vigilante turned a dial on the Batcomputer’s control panel, turning the volume up; an eerie burbling noise greeted them, sounding for all the world like a synthesised child’s giggle. If he hadn’t been there at the time, Batman would have been of half a mind to dismiss the footage as an amateur horror film… as it was, however…

Rudy’s groan came out strangled, this time. “Wonderful… Unfortunately, I know that one, too… How, um, how often do people go… wherever that is?”

“Reasonably often,” Alfred replied. “Many view those gardens as a valuable patch of greenery in their daily lives. It’s also directly opposite one of the major monorail stations throughout the city, and so sees its fair share of traffic.”

“That’s… a problem. As I can’t really see it that well, I can’t tell you which of two options it is… but, that’s a creature that seems to adore killing anything that’s alive, other than plants. It’s either a Rachael or a Kristen,” he paused, grimacing at the looks on both older men’s faces, “yes, that’s what they’re called. Wait!” The azuret leaned closer to the screen. “Okay, the scissors are blue, it’s a Rachael.”

“Just what manner of creature is this ‘Rachael’?” Alfred asked, sounding more like he’d very much rather not know instead. Silently, Batman almost found himself agreeing with the man.

Straightening himself before answering, Rudy took a long breath before answering. “Most think of them as possessed dolls.”

“Anything else?” Batman pressed. “Why is it there, for example?”

“Well… maybe because it’s so different to where they usually go –abandoned buildings and the like? Another possibility is that it’s preparing to ambush any visitors? Then again… maybe it’s there simply because it felt like it?” The teen shrugged. “I don’t know of any successful research into why creatures like Rachaels do what they do, specifically. But, I do know a bit more about them.”

“Then get on with it.”

Rudy didn’t even falter at the sharpness of Batman’s voice. “Like Goldrakes, they can make themselves faster than normal, although they have a tendency of focusing on that instead of on actually harming anything… until there’s no more effect of that particular capability. Then they go on the attack.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded. “While I said that they like to kill things… from what I can remember, they… don’t actually tend to do the final act themselves. With a single well-placed snip of those scissors, they can cut a person’s strength to near-unconsciousness, but I’ve never seen or really heard of them actually laying the final blow. They let other things do that, whether it’s environmental or the action of some other creature.”

“So they’re more of a menace than a threat, intrinsically?” the vigilante asked. Separating things into such categories had helped before, in terms of figuring out what to deal with first. After a few seconds of deliberation, Rudy nodded. Batman set his plate aside, earning a nigh-inaudible harrumph from Alfred over the barely-touched food. “Good. I can actually work with that. Alfred, I want you and Nightwing to keep an eye on Rudy. I’m going out again.”

“Really, sir, one could almost be excused for thinking that you don’t like sandwiches,” the blue-eyed butler bemoaned dryly. “But, very well, sir. Try not to get yourself killed.”

As Batman strode over to where a stealth aircraft was slowly warming up, he allowed himself a small smirk. “No more than usual.”

“Who’s ‘Nightwing’?” Rudy asked, just as the Batwing’s cockpit slid closed.

 


	22. Navia Au Caput

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from the Roman term for flipping a coin to decide something. I felt it was rather fitting...

Harvey Dent was not a patient man, everyone he dealt with knew that much… and so, when he’d heard the clamouring of his henchmen – _even through the door, damnit, don’t they know we’re trying to think, here?!_ – he wasted no time in storming out of the staff office and into the main space of the warehouse. “There a problem, boys?” he demanded as he descended the rickety stairs.

They had gathered in a sort of circle around something he couldn’t see, and a few looked up at his approach. A gap opened in the ring of bodies, slowly and reluctantly like a tearing wound, revealing the source of the ruckus…

The girl looked to be no older than seventeen and was out cold.

“We found her a few minutes ago, boss,” one of them offered as an explanation, but Harvey made no move to show he’d even heard him. “Thought we could have some fun, y’know?”

Harvey paid no mind to any of his men, aside from a soft snort at the quiet groan that met his ears when he squatted next to her and pulled out his coin. The scarred silver dollar danced around his fingers as a tuneless hum left his throat. “So… what to do here…” His entire hand clenched around the metal. _“I know the boys’re looking forward to_ … nah, we can’t make that sort of decision on our own. She’s still just a kid, not quite sure I even want to toss. _Toss it… can’t have our guys getting blue-balled._ There are other things for that.”

The silence around him was almost impressive; usually such bated breath could only be achieved after fate demanded a culling…

His fingers acted, flicking the coin into the air and then snatching it before it could fall to the floor. Before he let the result of the toss be known, he looked up at his men. “If it turned up bad, you boys have to either wait or find something else. _If it’s good, you get her.”_ Harvey held out his hand and unfurled his fingers to reveal the damaged face. “Sorry. Why don’t you take the rest of the day to do something fun – _just don’t get caught.”_

Again, he ignored the disappointed groaning, waiting until the lot of them had filtered out of the warehouse before tossing the coin again. Unmarred. Another toss… pristine – _lucky girl, seems fate’s on her side, today_. Harvey nodded to himself, pocketed the dollar, and slid his arms under the girl’s legs and back, scooping her up and standing in a single motion.

The ex-District Attorney carried her up into the office, setting her down in a previously-unoccupied chair; he flipped his coin again – _scarred… now that’s more like it!_ – and pulled off his tie, using it to secure her wrists behind the chair-back. With all that done, he reclaimed his seat.

He’d wait until she woke up to get answers out of her.

**~*~**

A soft moan drew Harvey’s attention away from the blueprints in front of him and back to the girl that he’d almost forgotten about, still tied to a chair to his right. The blonde teenager was waking up slowly, so he took the time to rearrange what he’d been working on; there was no point simply letting her see it, especially if she managed to get word out to the wrong sorts of ears. The rustling of paper snapped her out of her daze, and when he glanced back at her, he found dark green eyes staring at him. He could see her shoulders shifting – _probably trying to worm her way out of it, sneaky little bitch_ – but when he turned to face the girl fully, she froze.

Apparently, the acid-burns on his left side were a shock. Big surprise.

“Now that I’ve got your attention… I need some questions answered.” Harvey tried to keep his voice reasonably level, guessing that his disfigured appearance would be enough to dissuade any thoughts of acting out. “Who are you?”

She took a moment to respond, the rapid rise and fall of her chest and the flicking movements of her eyes scanning both him and the office being the only exceptions to her statue-like stillness. “I… My name is Cecilia… Cecilia Ardelheid” she said at long last, before swallowing loudly and asking, “And… who are… where…?”

 _“Call us Two-Face, I’m sure you can figure out why.”_ His burned left hand rose to gesture vaguely at the rest of him. “As for where you are, this is my office. Do you know how you got here?”

A tiny shake of her head. “N-no. I, uhm, other than your office, where am I?”

Harvey’s good eye narrowed slightly; he’d expected their infamy would suffice to clue her in. _“You’re in Gotham City. Ever heard of it?”_ he asked teasingly, then scoffed at her reddening cheeks. “Really? That’s a surprise… _I think she’s just stupid_. Give her some credit…”

The girl’s expression filled with something akin to horror, but remained lacking in the recognition they’d expected. “…Why am I tied up?”

“Well, that’s a simple one,” he tilted his head just a little, facing more of his scarring towards her. _“‘Cause the toss came up bad for you staying loose.”_ A harsh snicker tore its way out of him. _“Be glad you’re getting any answers_. It’s the simplest way of getting them from you –a trade, basically. _You’re too soft_ — and you’re too hard… the kid’s a damned fish out of water. _Yeah, yeah, whatever…”_

“…I… uh, I’m not quite sure which side of the conversation I’m following…” Cecilia said, quiet and tentative, only to squeak when Harvey got to his feet. “I’m not used to… any of… this. I didn’t mean—…”

“Relax a little, would you?” His normal hand came up to rub at the right side of his face. “Just checking, but, do you know how you got to a city that you have –somehow– never heard of?” A mute shake of her head was more than enough of an answer, and left him with less to work with than he’d have liked. _“Now what? You got a master plan, or some shit?_ No, not really… _Hah! I say we check if fate’s changed its mind… less of a pain in the neck for us, that way.”_

Cecilia resumed her squirming while they talked, managing to unbalance her chair. The impact left her dazed for a moment –long enough for another coin toss, which yet again came up good, drawing a low growl out of him. She tried to scramble away from him, but he caught her arm and hauled her to her feet with ease. “Let me go!”

 _“Would you just shut up, you little bitch?! You’re already giving us a headache!”_ he snarled into her ear before shoving her against the desk he’d been working at. “For some reason, fate wants you to stay alive and relatively-unharmed, so _make it easier for everyone and give up.”_

She righted herself and moved to press her body against the nearest wall just a moment afterwards. Shudders racked her slender frame, but –unlike earlier– flickers of steely determination glinted in her eyes. Harvey met her burgeoning glare with ease for several minutes, then she opened her mouth again. “What are you going to do with me?”

This time, he made certain that she saw the flash of silver before he flipped his coin. “If this comes up good, you get to live… hell, I may even see about solving the mystery you pose, but no promises. If it comes up bad, _you die, after giving our boys some fun.”_

Just like all the others they’d put to the coin, Cecilia watched the toss with rapt attention.

 


	23. For Want of an Apple

“A doctor… of the mind?” Zet tested the words, his head tilting to one side as he tried to wrap his mind around such a foreign concept. He’d meant it when he told the tall man that he hadn’t known it was possible to ‘treat’ craziness… However, they didn’t get much more time to discuss anything further, as Peppercorn and a frowning guard who he hadn’t met before seemingly materialised behind them as if out of thin air.

Nonplussed by the interruption, Crane glanced up at the pair with a small smirk. “Well, it appears that the rest of our conversation will have to wait… try to get some of your questions in order for the next time we meet, Zet. Now then, which of us are you two here for?” the redhead asked, an almost playful lilt in his voice.

“‘Far as I’m concerned, whether we were here for you or not, you can just shut the hell up, Crane,” the guard growled, his frown transforming into a scowl and pulling strangely on the long scar that bisected one of his eyes. Zet felt a frown of his own start to grow –what was this guy’s problem? For that, that particular guard was getting ‘Bananabrain’ as his nickname… He always had considered bananas to be stupid –well, they’d probably be stupid if they even had brains– and why did so many of the Apes back home hoard the fruit like it was going extinct, yet practically never seem to eat any of them?

_Get back on topic, you idiot._

Peppercorn gave a tiny sigh. “We’re here for the kid. You’ve got an appointment with Doctor Young in ten minutes, precious. So, c’mon. On your feet.” She waved her hands in a ‘hurry up’ gesture, smiling and paying no mind to the way the gold-eyed youth definitely did not rake his fingers through his hair and let out a petulant whine…

…Because he totally didn’t do that… and he really needed to stop letting his brain take him into what was effectively another plane of existence; his imagination was psychedelic enough without the help, after all.

_Good luck with that… You’ll need it._

Crane let out another low hum. “Doctor Young, hm? That could be… an ‘adventure’ for you,” he said, keeping his voice quiet, as if he wanted to keep his comments between Zet and himself. “She’s a fool, and that’s only from what snippets I’ve heard.”

_All the better, maybe you can make a new ‘friend’?_

To show the blue-eyed doctor that he’d heard the warning, Zet gave a small nod –Peppercorn and Bananabrain undoubtedly thought it was for them, if they noticed at all. “Right, right.” He didn’t feel the need to stand either carefully or slowly this time, and sprang to his feet in a quick and fluid motion, taking a moment to stretch his arms above his head before looking expectantly at his apparent guides. “Let’s go, then.”

_Show them why you follow no-one’s orders… Show them the dangers they’re inviting, the vibrant paint that pulses through their fragile sacks of skin…_

He wasn’t prepared for the intrusion, and so wasn’t able to stop the sharp intake of breath… or the reflexive clamping down of teeth on his scarf. The cold shudder that wracked his frame surely didn’t go unnoticed, either –Crane’s gaze was like a pair of icy spears lodged between his shoulder-blades, he could feel it!– and Peppercorn even reached out a hand towards him, before seeming to think better of it and merely sending him a concerned look. “M’good!” Zet exclaimed… he only hoped they bought it.

“Good to hear, precious… now let’s get going, hm?”

Bananabrain simply scoffed quietly instead of acknowledging or challenging the verdanet’s declaration, then took the lead towards the door. After a moment, Zet fell into step behind him –trying not to twitch at Peppercorn taking up the rear of their little entourage, did they really have to play it like he was a priso—… nope, never mind, of course they did– although his movements were jerky at first, smoothing out halfway across the room. On the other side of the door, however, a surprise was waiting; Pastamop leaned against the wall opposite the doorway, grimacing as he took in Bananabrain’s darkening expression and stiffening shoulders.

“I felt responsible,” the much-nicer guard offered as an explanation.

“What about your post, Burlow?” Bananabrain growled, ignoring another sigh from the dark-skinned woman behind him. “Besides, I think we got this one covered.”

Pastamop –Burlow? What kind of name was that? His version was much better– shrugged, seemingly used to the sour man’s attitude. “Aaron’s covering for me. You know, badass even with one hand? And… anyone can see the kid’s stiff as a board, Boles.”

So the bad-tempered guard was the ‘Bowls’ that Pastamop mentioned earlier? Not that it mattered to Zet what the guy’s name was… he wasn’t changing what he called him.

“Hey, we’re on a bit of a time-limit, aren’t we? Any chance you can save the macho crap for another time?” Peppercorn interjected wryly with a sweeping gesture that pointed her entire arm down the corridor. “Much as I like macho men, we’re on the job.”

There was silence for a moment… then Pastamop snickered and Bananabrain groaned. The scarred guard strode forward resolutely, growling, “Fine, whatever, just don’t make me regret this.”

From there, Zet’s escorts fell quiet –would it kill them to chat with him, just to ease the tension?– leaving him with little else to do, other than stare in various random directions, trusting his other senses to keep him moving where the trio directed. Two minutes away from the communal lounge, and he’d reached an ironclad decision; this place was just as boring –if not more so– as the bleak icy wilderness he was forced to live in, back home… with the only source of interest being those who were unlucky enough to be there.

The monotony nearly made him want to scream, just so that something else would be forced to happen… That idea was scrapped almost as soon as he had it, however, torn from the forefront of his mind by a shrill echoing sound that he knew painfully well; someone was shrieking in… no, no that wasn’t pain. Pained screams sounded different, so what was—… Zet shook his head, shoving his thoughts in another direction.

“You know, this place could do with some colour… like, green, or blue, or yellow –something more cheery than grey or white. Makes the place feel cold.” Zet blurted out, then he scowled. “Yeah, definitely something other than white. Did you know it’s possible to develop an allergic reaction to a certain colour?” It probably wasn’t, but it wasn’t like he particularly cared. That was his excuse and he was sticking with it, logic be damned. He pulled an innocent smile onto his face when he noticed Bananabrain glare back at him, then it widened at the muffled laughter coming from the other two. “Maybe you could even get everyone together –who cares if people wear the paint too, that’d be half the fun– and redecorate the whole place?”

“Top brass’d never allow it, precious, hate to break it to you.” Peppercorn said, slightly breathlessly. “Though, you do have a point about it feeling a bit unwelcoming.”

Zet’s smile morphed into a full-blown grin as he turned around, deliberately ensuring that he was still walking in synch with his escorts –he was just moving backwards now. “I know! Pity about the ‘top brass’. Bet they’re the sort who can’t have fun unless they’re… wait, what do ‘top brass’ of a place like this even do?” Despite his overly-active imagination, he couldn’t really picture Fruit Bowl having fun… ever.

“For fun?” It was Pastamop’s turn to respond. “No idea. I know what I and my buddies like doing, but that’s about it.” The nicer guard rose one shoulder in a half-shrug, coupling it with a wry smile. “You sure seem a bit out of touch with places like this, don’t ya, kiddo?”

He really should tell them that he’s not a child, despite the almost-guaranteed disbelief he was bound to get in return… Although, he had to admit that –like Crane’s ‘child’ comment and Peppercorn’s apparent ‘precious’ fixation– the rather lacklustre nickname that Pastamop had saddled him with felt kinda nice. “All I know is that it’s an ‘asylum’, which I thought was a word that meant ‘safe haven’, or something like that. You don’t really lock a person up in a safe haven, though, so… maybe I’m just missing something.”

“You’re missing something.” Bananabrain’s voice was flat –seriously, what was that guy’s problem?– which did nothing except earn the man a stuck-out tongue. “We’re practically there, so quit your yapping for a bit; you’ll wanna save your voice for the doc’.”

“Gee, that doesn’t sound half ominous…” Zet grumbled, spinning on the balls of his feet to face the sour guard’s back once again. Not even a minute passed before the mismatched quartet came to a stop at a nondescript door that almost perfectly blended into the walls around it.

Ignoring him –how dare he?!– Bananabrain pulled out a card from one of his uniform’s many pockets and pouches, running it through a slot in the lock panel that Zet only actually noticed thanks to watching the movement. The mechanism beeped a couple of times, a small red light just above the sensor turned green, and the door let out a loud thunking sound. Turning the handle with one hand and grabbing Zet’s shoulder with the other, he pulled the verdanet into the room.

Zet bit down on the growl that vibrated in his chest at the treatment; now wasn’t the time to cause a scene. Now was the time to investigate what he could of what was expected from him…

It was a rather small room, and painfully bland. Two doors at opposite corners, and a large shiny blackened mirror stretching across the majority of one wall –it had to be a window in hiding… his ‘uncle’ had once played with the concept of unseen observation, and that pane of dark glass had the exact same vibe about it. A table and two chairs –one facing away from each door– sat in the centre of the room; there were metal loops built into odd places on one half of the table, which Zet tried very hard not to contemplate the reason behind…

Pastamop gestured to the chair on the weird side of the table, nearest to the door they’d come through. With a shrug, he sat down as directed –still no point causing a scene. Peppercorn leaned against the blandest wall, while the two guards moved to stand beside the doors, obviously waiting for something. Probably the doctor. Zet suppressed a shudder before it could rage through his body; she had better not come in wearing white, for the sake of his nerves.

The mirrored surface called to his curiosity, but –despite the growing urge to do exactly the opposite– he tried to stop himself from looking at it too intently just yet, occupying himself by tap-tap-tapping his fingers on the tabletop and humming along to the tune that his mind scrambled to put together. By the door that led who-knew-where, Bananabrain sent him a low-key glare; Zet ignored it easily –serves him right, how did he like it?! It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to glares… and bananas couldn’t glare as potently as anyone in his family.

“Bananas don’t even have eyes.” Zet muttered to himself with a grin, snickering at the image that popped into his head. It was difficult to figure out where to put glasses on the curved yellow fruit…

He was interrupted from going any further by the Mysterious Door of Terrible Doom – _stop naming everything_ – opening to reveal a brunette woman in a white uniform, and Zet was forced to swallow the groan that had mutinously built up. Her brown hair was tied back neatly, with several shorter locks hanging over her forehead. Blue-grey eyes –Zet decided suddenly that he much preferred Crane’s icy stare and Eggnog’s sharp gaze over her murky one– studied him, scouring his body from head to toe in a single sweep before settling back on his face. She smiled – _faker_ – as she sat in the other chair, placing a thin yellow folder down on the table in front of her.

“Hello, I’m Doctor Penelope Young. I’ll be working with you from now on.”

 


	24. The Doctor Came Calling

Penelope waited in the observation room for her first true sight of her new patient, the notes from Arkham’s medical staff –those who had dealt with his injuries– held firmly in her hands. She’d read through them at least ten times already, and still she wasn’t quite sure whether to believe it all…

The patient’s torso had been torn open –a gaping hole leaking silver-coloured blood, his organs exposed and shredded, his ribs sliced and snapped– yet, somehow, he had lived, and was even awake for much of his time in Medical… aside from the periods that they had drugged him to sleep. According to the additional notes and observations made by the attending nurse, he had even rejected most of their attempts to repair his wound. Apparently, the young enigma had removed all of the bandages they’d tried to wrap around his body –the report stated that he’d even insisted that such things would only get in the way; maybe he was right, given the fact that his body had rapidly replaced the destroyed tissue.

If he wasn’t a metahuman, then the doctor frankly had no idea what he was. The idea of treating another of the world’s strangest was an exciting prospect, and the best part was that it would look very good on her personal records.

The patient’s door opened, drawing her out of her thoughts for a moment, and she finally got to see him for herself.

Penelope opened the notepad she’d brought with her and started to create notes of her own. First was… the patient had green hair –possibly from dyes, although that would become clear to everyone soon enough– and a lightly-tanned complexion with a strange grey undertone, likely due to the colour of the liquid that acted as his blood. She watched his golden catlike eyes scan the interview room, lingering a little too long in her direction through the two-way mirror for her liking, and there were dark shadows hanging underneath them, hinting that he rarely slept. Her patient was lean, somewhere around five and a half feet tall, or perhaps a bit taller, and moved with a smoothness that suggested that he hadn’t a care in the world… or else that he might wind up joining the ranks of the more physically-dangerous patients at the asylum. Upon being directed to sit, he did so without any fuss, and she was glad to note that –despite the slightly greater security presence than she’d anticipated– he hadn’t been restrained yet.

With any luck, that would remain unnecessary.

Her pen scratched to a halt. There was no use in keeping him waiting for too much longer, and so she gathered his file together and left for the doctor’s entrance. Time to get to work.

 


	25. Foot-in-Mouth Disease

Zet did his best to keep as calm an expression on his face as he could. As the doctor started with an attempt at a normal-enough greeting, he resolved to do the same, even with the nervous energy that had begun to build up in his body. “Yo, the name’s Zet,” he said, offering a half-hearted wave. “Though, I guess you probably knew that already…” With the greetings over, he crossed his arms on the tabletop and let his chin rest on them, looking up at her from the hunched position –waiting for her to make her next move.

_Ah, lulling her into a false sense of security, are you? Not a bad idea. Human women are so sensitive, so easy to spook… From there, you probably look so harmless, don’t you? So… weak._

The brunette doctor nodded. “Is that your full name?”

And that was strike one and a half against the doc’. Zet grimaced. There he was, trying to keep from losing his temper, yet she had to go and make the same stupid mistake that almost everyone else there had done…! “Yup. Guess my family’s just weird like that…” he replied through gritted teeth. “Though, to me, you lot are the ones with crazy names, needing two or more just to make sure that everyone knows it’s you and not someone with the same name –or just a similar one…! Can’t your looks take care of that?”

He managed to keep track of people by looks –as well as by presence, but he was trying very hard not to really pick up on hers– so why couldn’t everyone else?

Doctor Young pulled out a notepad, pen at the ready. “Unfortunately, no. There would be too many legal concerns, if that was what everyone relied on.” The verdanet did nothing other than send her a confused look, and she gave him another false smile. “But, that’s not really the point here. What is the point… is you. I’d like to get to know you better. Do you think you could help me with that?”

Sounded harmless enough. “Sure, I’m game.”

“Great!” This time, her smile actually felt a teensy bit genuine. “Let’s start with an easy topic, shall we? What do you like to do for fun, Mister Zet?”

He probably shouldn’t count that as another half-strike against her… not when it seemed to be so unduly prevalent in the mentality of the place. “No ‘mister’, that just sounds wrong.” That didn’t mean he wouldn’t expect her to continue using it, regardless of his wishes, of course. “For fun, huh…?”

_Hands through stomachs or chests, twisted necks, snapped limbs…_

Not his idea of fun. Zet nearly growled, pushing back the mental images that snuck in with that train of thought. “I like… climbing… exploring places, playing games… Y’know, normal stuff.” He didn’t bother mentioning the thrill that stirred in his blood when in the midst of a good spar, or the euphoria that came with cutting through the air at high speeds from some towering vantage point, or the joy he felt when telling a good story to someone who actually listened to him for once…

“Normal, indeed. You like being outdoors a lot, I take it?” she asked, tilting her head slightly to one side.

The verdanet grinned toothily. “You bet! Especially getting as far away from home as possible.” No need to bring up how that usually ended –his body at someone else’s livid mercy– she didn’t need to know that. “There’s only so much to see around there, compared to… well, everywhere else. You see it every day, and even the potential allure of a snowscape or mountains just… seems boring, you know?”

Doctor Young pursed her lips, her forehead furrowing. “I take it, from that, you don’t get along well with your family?”

A snort tore out of him before he could stop it. “Understatement of the century, doc’…” He decided to come up with a nickname for her later; he was still trying not to look in her direction for too long, still trying to keep from letting himself analyse her personal vibe. “They’re pretty strict, and I don’t do well with strictness.” It was close enough, anyway.

_Show her a taste of what they’ve done… show her something of what you’ve lived through…_

“Not now…” he mumbled into his arm. Probably ‘not ever’ would be the better response, but he couldn’t give that guarantee, not even to himself. A chill spread from the top of his spine –right where it met his skull– slowly moving down to spread through the rest of his body. “Not. Now.” Zet repeated, louder this time and paired with sinking his upper fangs into his forearm. Warm silvery blood started to seep from the punctures, driving away the cold sensation. He quickly let go of the injured flesh. Only when he was done wiping his mouth on the less-orange-now sleeve did he dare to glance back up to the others in the room.

The doctor was the first to make a move, leaning forward in her seat with an intrigued expression. “Why did you do that, Zet?”

“…Itchy,” he replied at last. “Put too much force into it.” He really needed to work on his excuses… they kept coming out sounding more and more pathetic, each time. “But, back on topic. I bet you’ve got loads of questions about all sorts of things, right? So let’s get this shit out of the way, ‘kay?”

Now, she leaned back in her seat, bringing her pen up to her face and resting the end she wasn’t writing with lightly against her chin. He almost wanted to pluck the thing out of her hand and throw it at the wall –would it bury itself or break? Being buried would be funnier. “Alright. So, what about friends? Surely someone as gregarious as yourself has plenty of them.”

_You know what happens when you try… You know what they do, you know what’s done to anyone dragged into it… you know, and it terrifies you._

“Eh, not especially. Regular acquaintances, more like.” Shoulders twitching in a bizarre would-be shrug, Zet finally turned his head to inspect the dark window, searching it for any sign of watchers on the other side. “We meet, have a conversation or three, then go our separate ways for a while until we get to rinse and repeat.”

“That sounds rather lonely.” Doctor Young stated, a note of sympathy warming her voice slightly. “Particularly given what you said earlier about your family. Do you prefer it that way?”

He growled, ire suddenly bubbling up out of nowhere and gripping his insides and holding tight; if she continued to push where he reacted the most, he’d probably wind up doing something they’d both regret. Why was she so interested in digging into that topic, anyway? Did it have anything to do with whether or not she decided if he was nuts? “Not really, but I just don’t have friends.”

_Such a strange word, ‘friend’… What does it really mean? Underling? Ally? Weakness?_

“Is it something to do with your relationship with your family?” she pressed, and he noticed that her pen was moving as she spoke, while her eyes were trying to bore into his skull at the same time. The thought made him snarl into his forearms.

“You could say that.” Zet replied, shifting the arch of his back to pull his chair closer to the table. “They don’t like ‘friends’.”

_Make her hurt… How dare she dig into you like this? Make her regret her questions now, before she starts to believe that she can get away with it… Make her—…_

“Shut. Up!” he snapped, another growl lacing through his words and continuing to rumble even after they ended. Secrecy be damned, responding was one of the only ways he knew of to ‘calm the beast’. Zet’s hands rose to thread his fingers through his hair, gripping the strands loosely when sufficiently entwined; the pricks of minute discomfort helped to distract him from the images insistently bombarding his mind –cruel fanged grins widening in cold glee, bloodied claws twitching in anticipation…

Doctor Young watched the whole thing, her pen furiously scribbling away. “Who are you talking to, Zet? Can you tell me that?”

_See? She wants to know. Let her learn the extent of her folly… let her understand just what’s going on… let her see you for what you really are…_

Zet’s throat clenched and his body shuddered violently; his eyes darted from one random spot in the room to another to another, desperately searching for some way out of the situation he’d found himself stuck in. Was it even possible for someone to be so eager to know something? To think, she was supposed to check whether or not he was crazy… If he hadn’t been so close to simply bolting from the room –‘rules’ be damned– then he might have burst out laughing. “No… no, I can’t tell ya. Or I won’t. Doesn’t matter.” Wincing at how weak his voice sounded, the verdanet forced himself to swallow before trying to speak again, resolutely ignoring the chill that had returned to dig its claws into his nerves. “Next question? Or is that all?”

“I’m afraid that I’m nowhere near done with questions,” Doctor Young answered, sounding slightly insulted at the prospect. Regardless, she fell quiet for a bit, compiling her most prudent queries until –at long last, though it wasn’t nearly long enough– she presented the next one. “How did you come to Arkham Island?”

The tiny break had been enough to allow Zet to pull his resolve together and focus on ‘playing nice’ once more. It was a harmless enough question… he could answer that. “Fell out of the sky, if you wanna believe that.” He knew she wouldn’t. “I nearly swallowed half the fucking ocean on the way to shore… impact with some of the rocks had me a bit dazed, though, along with the fact I was losing so much blood.” More scribbling of the pen, more could-be-piercing glances, more carefully-restrained impatience making the brunette’s body tense. Had she been dealing with any other member of his family, she might have had her glaringly-obvious broadcasting taken as a challenge.

“You fell from a plane?”

“…Yeah, sure. We’ll go with that.”

Now, she huffed; Zet highly doubted that was very ‘professional’. “Where are your family, now? Maybe it’s about time that we try getting in contact with them, in case they want to check in on you?”

With what he’d already told her, the suggestion made his back snap straight. He stared incredulously at her. “You can’t be serious…” At least the chill was actually beginning to recede again, allowing him to think a bit clearer. Golden eyes narrowed at the doctor, and a nearly-silent growl rumbled in his chest. Maybe if he gave her almost enough information, she’d leave the topic alone…? “They’re up north, or they mostly are, at least –no-one tells him where to go, lucky bastard– and… no thanks.”

“‘Him’?”

“One of the only ones I get along with.” Zet replied, his voice low and thick with an emotion that he couldn’t really place –hot and cold at the same time, almost like a feverish hole… how did that make any sense?– before returning to normal. “He’s away from home almost as much as I am, he just gets to stay away without too much of a fuss.” This was better, talking about someone or something other than himself. Normally, the concept would trigger some sparks of irritation, but in that moment, it was almost more welcome than the comfort of familiarity. Speaking of which… the doctor’s eyes had settled on the loops of orange silk around his neck, narrowing in confusion. He frowned. “Don’t tell me you don’t really know what a scarf is, either…”

The brunette’s expression flicked into the realm of irritation for a moment before smoothing out again. “No, I do… It’s just that I wasn’t aware of any changes in regulations, regarding your uniform.”

Not that again… The growling returned with a vengeance and he bared his teeth at her, leaning as far back in his chair as he could without tipping it. “Well, I suppose you don’t know everything, then, do ya?”

She met his glare evenly. “What would you do if that was taken from you?”

“Probably kill whoever did it,” he answered immediately, not bothering to think it over. While there were some –very, very few– who had any chance of getting away with it… none of them were anywhere nearby. If he lost his scarf, he really would go nuts, Zet had no doubts about that.

“Without question? That’s rather violent of you.” Doctor Young sounded as if she didn’t believe him. “Why does it mean so much to you? Was it some kind of present?”

Zet was beginning to doubt that she had any idea of what she was doing. Why did she insist on digging her nose into places it so clearly didn’t belong? Was it somewhere in the job description of ‘mind doctor’ –as he could only assume she was– and if so, how did she do it so badly while Crane did it so well? The verdanet moved to stand, only to have Pastamop’s hand press down on one shoulder; instead, he resorted to fast-paced tapping on the tabletop –pacing would have to wait, it seemed. “Yes, most likely.” It was the only answer he gave, the only one she deserved.

An air of mild frustration started to whirl above the doctor’s head, but she kept going regardless. “Would you consider yourself to be human?”

It was almost funny, almost enough to get him to forget her near-threat and incessant prodding. However, did that mean that he should tell her what it seemed she wanted to hear, or should he do the exact opposite… just to spite her? Rather than giving a clear answer, Zet settled on playing a sort of game with her. “What does it look like I am?”

“I’m not asking whether you look human –that’s clearly not the case– I’m asking whether you believe that you are one.” Her voice was flat, although she didn’t quite manage to completely hide every flicker of irritation or impatience.

Damn, she wasn’t going to play. He slumped back down onto the table, almost all of his earlier nervous energy rushing out of his system in one fell swoop. “Is that anything to do with whether I’m ‘crazy’ or not?” he deadpanned. At this point, he was starting to think that she wasn’t interested in proving him sane or not, and simply wanted to prove him to be ‘other’. It made his skin crawl for some reason…

_Maybe she wants a reason to put you on display…? Or maybe, she wants to put you under the knife. Who knows? Are you going to let her do either?_

Not missing a beat, however, the brunette countered with, “I would honestly have a better run of that if you told me who you were telling to be quiet, earlier.”

Zet snorted. “Not happening.”

“Very well, then. Tell me more about your family; why do you have such difficulty getting along with them?”

“Also not happening.”

“Why not?”

_Why not, she asks… what a stupid question._

She was scribbling away, yet again. The scratching of her pen made the hairs on the back of Zet’s neck bristle, and his body straightened as if the bristling pulled it upright; being the only sound other than their voices and the breathing of all occupants of the room wasn’t helping, either. She continued with, “Does it hurt?”

_Yes, does it hurt to think of them? Does it hurt to speak of them? Does it?_

He refused to rise to the bait this time and kept his body still… aside from the fingers of one hand, which were tap-tap-tapping softly on the table. Scouring his mind for an acceptable response, the verdanet found himself pulling one of the oldest lessons his family had ever taught him back into the light. “‘Hurt’ is subjective…” His gaze flicked down to his stomach –if he concentrated hard enough, he could still see the fruits of that lesson carved into his body– and he forced himself to continue, to explain. “If you hurt a lot in one way or in one spot, you can be hurt elsewhere and never feel it, even if it’s a worse injury. That, and how much you can take is different, depending on who you are.”

“I’m sorry to hear you say that.” She didn’t sound sorry, she sounded rehearsed. “It sounds like there may be a good reason for you to try to separate yourself from your relatives…” Staring at the dark window again, Zet didn’t notice her flip open the folder she’d brought with her. “However, I think that I might know how to start helping you. I mean, it’s almost obnoxiously-clear that you’re made of some pretty sturdy stuff… if needed, there’s probably not a single type of treatment we can provide that you would be unable to handle.”

He scowled at that. “I still say I’m not crazy.” Zet hissed, snarling when he realised that she wasn’t paying attention.

As if he hadn’t even spoken, she kept going. “We’ll need to wean you off of your ‘security blanket’ at some point, of course, and do something about that temper of yours. You could hardly be expected to reintegrate into society if you’re willing to even contemplate killing someone over something so small… although, that does point towards some far deeper issue…” the doctor clicked her tongue at the end. All of her attention seemed to be ensnared by her notepad and the folder, and she paid no heed to the way his body had tensed up. After what felt to him like hours – _don’t be so dramatic_ – she refocused her murky-blue gaze onto him, rather than any inanimate object in front of her. “I’d like you to answer another question for me, Zet… Does a violent mindset run in your family?”

The verdanet wasn’t entirely certain whether to take her seriously. She asked as if she wholeheartedly believed that she knew the truth already, regardless of whether she actually did or not, and especially regardless of what the truth actually was. The idea made Zet grit his teeth. Besides, ‘running in the family’ was a tricky concept to define, when it came to them… so he stayed silent. Gold glared back at blue; he could even feel his pupils narrowing into thinner and sharper slits.

Taking his silence as whatever answer she’d predicted, the brunette nodded to herself. “I hope you realise that –for any of us to help you in any significant way– I need you to be completely honest with me.” Zet wanted to throw that back in her face; he would have, too, if words had any solidity. “Now then, you didn’t tell me why your scarf is so important to you… How about we get back to that?”

“How about ‘no’.” Zet snarled at her. His heart was thudding in his chest, every sense kicked into overdrive as his body prepared itself for a fight –all against his will. He knew there was basically no point trying to fight his way out of there just yet, but that knowledge did nothing to stop what was pretty much an automatic –trained– reaction. When he noticed her features pull downwards in a frown, he snickered inwardly to himself.

“Alright,” Doctor Young said tersely. “I’d like you to take it off for a moment.”

Zet felt the searing shocks from the guards’ batons –the pressure of strong hands on his arms and back– before he even realised that he’d leapt at her, his hands clawing through the air for her vulnerable throat.

 


	26. The Master's Mind

Stalking his way over to the opposite corner of the lounge did very little to soothe the Riddler’s ruffled feathers, but it was most likely better than the alternative –staying and proving the newcomer was far lesser than he…

In fact, moving away from the conversation had been approximately fifty-seventh on his list of desired actions for that situation… as well as managing to sit proudly at the very top of his current hastily-cobbled-together list of how to not wind up with the self-styled ‘Master of Fear’ aiming to make Edward’s life in this godforsaken asylum into a creatively-ghastly living hell for the foreseeable future… and then some, because anyone who actually knew Jon also knew that the man didn’t play the revenge game by halves –or anything less than about three or four halves– meaning, of course, that logic had dictated that he simply had to do it.

Even if he really, really, really didn’t want to.

Edward certainly understood the enticing value of an unknown entity –in the right circumstances, at least– it was the sheer spontaneity of the Scarecrow’s reaction that stuck him as odd. So often, Jonathan Crane did his best to stay clear of anything that involved demeaning himself –for, surely, that was what he was doing with Arkham’s newest arrival… right?– that it was almost as if the taller redhead had been replaced with some stranger that no-one actually knew… Although, granted, there was the tiniest sliver of a chance that Edward’s own thoughts and feelings on the matter might –might!– have coloured his interpretation…

…Slightly.

He claimed a seat by one of the barred windows, ignoring the wary looks worn by the security personnel and various orderlies scattered throughout the room with practiced ease, determined to set about the true task at hand. No-one had dared to draw his attention to themselves, he noted idly, despite the fact that –if it weren’t for his own nefarious reputation– his generally-harmless appearance would have acted as a form of siren’s symphony in the midst of such a cesspool, calling out to all manner of brutes and would-be masterminds to express their presumed superiority over him. The hilarity and offensiveness in that concept were practically equal to each other.

Normally, the green-eyed man was a graciously patient –typically for a few minutes at most– and understanding –when agreed with– individual. Edward only bit back when he’d already suffered through an attack according to his own particular and fastidiously-precise set of definitions… and he bit back hard. For the slights perpetrated against him by this ‘Zet’ character, he’d first need to learn more about what the boy did and did not comprehend… yes, the affronts levied at him by the cat-eyed youth were proportionately-insignificant compared to those of the Dark Knight who haunted Gotham’s night-time rooftops, but if he slacked off on one thing then it would undoubtedly lead into a self-destructive spiral that the Riddler had no interest in falling prey to.

That all being said, it did somewhat seem as if he could challenge the newcomer to a form of ‘local trivia’ puzzle and win without any effort… Edward dismissed the idea with a scowl and a single solid shake of his head. It would be better for the verdanet to have tried –maybe even succeeding in solving one or two conundrums– before snatching victory away; it would make the redhead’s own victory all the sweeter, and prove him all the more superior, too…

…Oh, and it wouldn’t do to forget that the Scarecrow would probably arrange a chemically-complex catastrophe for Edward to enjoy if he ‘broke the fearmonger’s new toy too soon’… So, a balancing act was required. Not exactly his forte, but far from outside of his extensive range of skills.

Now, if only he could keep his temper in the meantime… or –better yet– if only the boy could learn some manners to employ when dealing with Gotham’s dark elite.

 


	27. Circles 'Round the Cornfield

Finally freed from the dedicated company of others, Jonathan had left his chair for a window seat –choosing a spot some ways apart from the brooding Riddler– and returned to the book he’d brought with him from the small stash in his cell. It was an old favourite of his, one that he’d probably read at least once every couple of years. Some undereducated people might argue that sharing a name with the main character had been what led him to the short story… but that was far from the whole picture; since he was young, he’d seen the tale as a challenge, more than anything else.

When he realised that he’d read the same sentence about five times in a row, however, he gave up trying to finish it before he was ushered somewhere else in the facility… let alone before lights-out.

Why was he, of all people, having difficulty focusing? Usually, he had impeccable focus –it was something of a necessity when dealing with chemicals, especially the ones he used– so the apparent lack of it had his brow furrowing and his hands clenching.

_Take a good look back, Jonny-boy. We got a new plaything._

The tension bled out of his body, and the ex-psychiatrist allowed his eyes to close as he leaned back against the glass. It wasn’t every day that his alter-ego knew an answer that had escaped Jonathan’s notice, and he wasn’t quite sure if he liked the feeling. Wild cackles sounded from the back of his mind, and the Scarecrow’s mirth warmed his body to a disconcerting degree. Being certain to frame his thoughts clearly, the scarred redhead responded. _‘Try to avoid making a fool out of us, would you?’_

 _Aw, so cold! Y’know I’d never do that._ Scarecrow snickered, pushing an image at Jonathan’s mental eye of a hand crafted out of sticks and woven straw waving as if to swat a fly. _But, back to bus-i-ness~… When d’we get to play with him? I wanna find out what noises he can make –I wanna hear him scream…_

With a small frown, the doctor shook his head. _‘You need to learn some patience; no need to go faster than a scalded haint… He’ll be here for a while, yet. The warden’s convinced he’s mad.’_

_Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock…_

_‘I don’t have any toxin with me…’_ Jonathan started, only for Scarecrow to continue his sing-along, now significantly louder. He almost winced. _‘Fine! You could win an argument in an empty house, if you tried hard enough… I’ll collect it tonight, after we learn where he’s been quartered. I’m sure that he’ll do his best to let me know, after all.’_

 _Jonny’s got a new friend~!_ His alter-ego snickered, although a touch of hostility turned the sound sour. _Soon enough, you’ll be spending all your time with the kitty-cat, and I’ll be left out in the cold, with no-one but the birds for company._

_‘Don’t go pitching a hissy fit. He’s simply fixated on me –most likely because I was the first to leave his pride even slightly-undamaged.’_

Scarecrow let out a rasping hum. _Don’t you start calling an alligator a lizard, Jonny-boy, you ain’t fooling me. Why do you think you couldn’t read about Hessians today?_

 _‘Oh, quiet, you…’_ Jonathan shot back, a grimace beginning to contort his features.

 _Nah, don’t feel like it._ An odd feeling spread through the bony man’s mind as the other personality shifted and uncurled himself. _I want to dig my fingers into our toy’s brain and pull out what he fears the most. I wanna show him just why he’s ours, and not the other way ‘round… and I want to do that now –when we first saw him, even!_

He sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose for a moment before readjusting his glasses. Sometimes, his maniacal alter-ego was far from reasonable… and it fell on his shoulders –as always– to smooth over his counterpart’s rough edges. _‘You’ll get your fun, Scarecrow, don’t worry.’_

 _Tonight._ The reply was instantaneous, pressuring for the answer that he really wanted.

To be fair, both of them were just as eager for it… Jonathan nodded. _‘Tonight.’_

 


	28. Blue Jay

“I need you to get back to the cave. We have another visitor.”

“Oh really? Are you sure it’s as secure as it used to be?”

“I don’t trust him alone in there, and Alfred can’t watch him all the time.”

“Fine, fine, I’m on my way back, now. Seriously, can’t you watch him?”

“I have a job to do.”

“So do I.”

“You’re just filling in.”

“Okay, no teasing, then.”

**~*~**

**“Identity confirmed.”**

Nightwing smiled at the familiar voice of the Batcomputer, striding confidently past all of the hidden traps at the main entrance to the Batcave. Keen blue eyes scanned the cavern, looking for the –second, really, Bats?– guy he was supposed to be babysitting while his mentor gallivanted around Gotham City. Having fun. While he, the now-going-solo-thank-you-very-much masked vigilante, was stuck playing house.

So perhaps he was a little bitter about the arrangement they’d all found themselves in.

Regardless of his less-than-entirely-stellar feelings towards Batman –or the man’s civilian persona, Bruce Wayne, for that matter– he had missed Alfred while he’d been away from Gotham, and so welcomed the chance to catch up to his ‘foster-grandfather’. Spotting the butler wasn’t difficult –he was sitting in front of the Batcomputer’s main terminal– and he made quick work of the distance between them. “Hey, Alfred.”

The greying man turned, offering Nightwing a smile. “I trust your trip was reasonably successful?”

“Eh, good enough. Mini-me not home?”

“He had some family issues to attend to. I believe that he’ll be back either later this evening, or tomorrow.”

He nodded. “So, where’s the other one?” A wry smirk found its way onto his face, and movement by the nearest rocky wall drew his attention. Ah. An unfamiliar face. “You must be him, right?” The blue-haired teenager paid him no heed, his nose buried in what appeared to be an encyclopaedia. “Oh-kay, then… Seems that particular blue jay might be a few chirps short of a song.”

Alfred let out a quiet chuckle. “Young Rudy, here, seems to be quite the voracious reader, at least in the correct circumstances.”

At the sound of his name, the stranger’s head snapped up, brandy-coloured eyes blinking owlishly. “Oh, uhm… sorry. Did you say something?” He set the book to one side and stood, holding out a hand in Nightwing’s direction while pulling a small smile into place. “I’m Rudy, it’s nice to meet you.”

The tiniest of shrugs made the black-haired vigilante’s shoulders twitch, then he grasped the offered hand and shook it firmly, returning the smile. “I’m… well, Bats’d be wanting me to stick with ‘Nightwing’, but you’re welcome to call me ‘Dick’, too. Saves any troubles for Alfie,” he turned to grin at the butler, “‘Master Nightwing’ just sounds wrong, and you can’t get me to change my mind.”

Rudy nodded –isn’t that strange, no jokes about his name? Just who was this kid?– then glanced off to one side for a moment before opening his mouth again. “I have a small question, and it may come across as rather… strange.”

Nightwing rose an eyebrow, tilting his head. “Strange, huh? Well, give it a shot.”

“What is a ‘bat’, other than an object used to hit things…? Or… the act of hitting things?”

“Geeze, Alfred, where did you guys pick this kid up…?” he asked, running one hand through his hair, trying to keep from bursting out into a fit of laughter.

“We didn’t, Master Richard,” was the dry response.

After a few deep breaths to regain control of his diaphragm, he shook his head and tried to come up with an acceptable answer. “It’s a kind of animal. They’re usually nocturnal, and they fly. Uhm, and there’s a lot of them roosting in this very cave.” Nightwing waved a hand in the vague direction of the cave ceiling. “That’s what’s making all those chittering noises. The Batcave is literally a bat cave.”

The azuret frowned slightly, mulling the information over, finally mumbling something about ‘night gaunts’ under his breath. “I was wondering about those…” he admitted with a shrug.

“And now you know.” He wouldn’t ask too much about why Rudy was so obviously-lacking in such knowledge –maybe that was why he was reading an encyclopaedia?– and instead decided to focus on something else that was niggling at him. Nightwing walked towards the training area of the cave, gesturing for the boy to follow. “Let’s have a spar, no weapons, and you can tell me your story…”

 


	29. Before the Storm: Into the Fire

_He debated actually going through with his plan… after all, what good would it truly do for him? Alhazred’s harsh voice was clearly audible, even on the other side of the door, although the voice of the scientist’s current victim –oops, no, conversation partner– was just as easy to pick out._

_Where Alhazred’s was sharp and almost-tinny from behind the large mask he wore, the other’s tones were gruff and snarly thanks to rumbling all the way up his huge frame from the floor to his throat. Where Alhazred’s words were mocking and oh-so-carefully picked out to skilfully craft exactly the right impression, the other’s phraseology was brash and always the very first thing that came to mind…_

_…And some even considered the pair to be brothers._

_Shaking his head, he pressed more of his body against the door, focusing his hearing on the room just beyond the metal barrier._

_“I already told you, ‘Sir’ Belselk. Surely you can recall that there’s a generator there… use it!”_

_The growl sent the scientist’s way was powerful enough to make the floor under his feet vibrate, even from where he stood, out in the corridor._

_“I heard ya the first fucking time! I just don’t know if you’re trying to kill me, or not!”_

_Alhazred let out a hiss. “Of course no—… Did you invite any company?”_

_“No.” A loud snort. “Why?”_

_“Because we have a rat…”_

_The door flew open, sending him stumbling forward a few paces, just to keep from falling flat on his face. After he managed to regain his balance and straighten as if nothing untoward had occurred, he met the glowering that had locked onto him the moment he entered. “…Yo?”_

_“Yo, yourself, pipsqueak. You got something to say, or do… that’s far away from here?” Belselk snarled, turning his body to face him fully. “Last I checked, you’re too ‘low grade’ to listen in on stuff like this.”_

_“Actually, there’s a funny story, there. You see—…” he started, only for one of Belselk’s large gauntleted hands to lash out and close around his neck. “Just… trying to… lighten the… mood…!” he gasped out. More air forced its way out of his screaming lungs when he was yanked towards the hulking warrior._

_Harsh rattling hisses tore from Belselk through clenched fangs. “Shit, shrimp, you ever shut the fuck up?”_

_“Not willingly.” Alhazred interjected coldly._

_His current ‘captor’ snorted, then released him after another few seconds. His body crumpled to the floor, not having anticipated being let go quite so soon. Between gasping for breath, he bit out a scrambled series of profanities and insults that even he couldn’t quite interpret fully, breaking off only when he caught a contemplative hum from the masked scientist._

_“What?” Belselk pressed, nonchalantly ignoring the slew of words that had been thrown his way._

_It took Alhazred a while to respond… Long enough for him to get back to his feet and begin to edge his way back through the doorway, but those efforts were thwarted by another strong green grip ensnaring one of his arms. He was just about to squirm his way free of the restraint when Alhazred spoke._

_“You could take him with you.”_

_“What?” How odd; they didn’t often say the same thing… “Hey, stop that!” Let alone twice in a row… “I mean it, cut that shit out!”_

_A burst of electricity caught their attention –for once, Belselk actually seemed slightly concerned, eyeing the arcing sparks with another growl. Alhazred snarled, his claws twitching. “Enough foolishness, both of you!”_

_Belselk grumbled. “Yeah, well, he started it.”_

_“Does it particularly look like I care about that?” the scientist asked, sickly-sweet. Waiting a moment for any retorts, he then continued, “There are two main ‘paths’ for visitors to Volcannon Trap to take… you will take the one that leads to where the generator actually discharges, and he will take the other to keep the generator running. Put him to some use, just in case anyone tries to ‘outsmart’ you.”_

_“Hey, don’t I get a say?” The glares he got in response to the reflexive question nearly made him shrink into himself. “Uhm, I mean… You… usually don’t want me going anywhere. So…”_

_“So, now I do. It’ll keep you out of trouble, here, at least.”_

_Oh joy._

_Belselk’s huge green-armoured form towered over him, a sneer carved in a long jagged stroke across his face. “Think you can do that much without screwing up, shrimp?”_

_He sighed. “I guess I can’t really say ‘no’ and still get to go, can I?”_

_“No,” was the immediate reply, both Belselk and Alhazred leaving no room for dispute._

_“…Fine.”_

 


End file.
